The Difference It Makes
by Gil Shalos1
Summary: When freak atmospheric conditions cut a landing party off from the Enterprise, Spock is forced to confront the differences between his command style and that of Captain Kirk. Meanwhile, Kirk has to deal with his own frustration at the Enterprise's helplessness. And then there's the Romulans...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the first in a series of stories I wrote 15 years ago, when fanfic was posted on listserves. The website that hosted them has long since gone to that great server in the sky, and after a request from a reader, I will be gradually reposting them here. However, the formatting of my original files is all as it was to post to a plain text listserve, (so I apologize for stray line breaks) and, I would like to think, I've learned a little something about writing in the last 15 years.

* * *

Captain's Log, Stardate 3874.2

The Enterprise is currently in orbit around Ser Etta Six, a winter world close to the boundary of the Neutral Zone, where Starfleet established a research facility some time ago. The base was set up to perform research on new biological matter discovered by exploration missions such as the Enterprise's, and so the location was chosen both for its nearness to the likely sources of new discoveries and its distance from populated space - in case one of the discoveries turned out to be dangerous. Now, however, that decision seems to have backfired. A month ago, a routine query to the base went unanswered,  
and when the records were examined it was discovered that no one had actually spoken to the base team for months. We were dispatched to investigate, and on arrival a landing party led by First Officer Spock beamed down and discovered the station base peaceful, orderly - and completely deserted. Commander Spock's sensor sweeps indicated the presence of metallic fragments "consistent with Starfleet manufacture"  
around 1500 miles from the station, and the landing party beamed down again. They discovered the wreckage of the station shuttle, and are continuing the search for the missing research team.

Professor Ann Ridley of the Federation Institute was dispatched to accompany us on this mission, Starfleet Command felt her experience in biomedical research might be relevant. Until we can determine the course of events on the plant's surface, however, Professor Ridley will remain on board.

* * *

Personal Log, James T Kirk

I'd feel a lot better if there were any indication of what happened down there. It seems as if the entire research team got on the shuttle, flew fifteen hundred miles from the base and crashed it in to the ground. The Romulans might be involved in this: or something could have gone very wrong with the experiments (although Spock found no trace of any contaminants in the base itself).

Spock was the obvious choice to lead this landing party, as he has the expertise and experience to make sense of any scientific evidence. As I might have expected, he selected a team mainly from Science Section:  
Ensigns Grenwood and Bai'tin, Yeoman Brand and Lieutenant Larssen.  
His sole concession to the usual inclusion of security personnel in landing parties was the lovely Yeoman Shimona, and I suspect he included her more for her experience with metal stress fractures during her time on loan to Engineering than her skill with a phasar (even if she is the quickest draw on the Enterprise). Every time I recommend Spock pay more attention to security considerations, he quotes Vulcan philosophy at me. Today it was "Those who wish to have peace, must live peace." Great, Spock, I said, we'll try that on the Klingons next time!

It would be a fascinating experiment, he told me, and would not be moved on the question of the landing party. I could over-rule him, but there're no life forms on Ser Etta Six (one reason it was selected in the first place) so I let it go, this time.

Grenwood and Bai'tin are relatively unknown to me. Despite my usual efforts to get to know new crew, the months since our last personnel transfer have been particularly busy, and I haven't had as much time as I'd like. Spock reports them to be standard "space cadets", or so I interpret his words.

Yeoman Brand has been with the Enterprise for some time now, and distinguished himself in our encounter with the Klingons at Gernicom IV. His scientific skill is unquestioned, as is his courage under direct fire, but he's never been called on to go in to danger, an important a test as any.

Which brings me to Corrina Larssen. Perhaps she's the one I wonder most about.

We received her as a replacement for Lieutenant Th'assan, killed in action on Thanos II. It's unusual to find a lieutenant, even a junior grade like Larssen, with so little active service experience. Most of her career has been spent on stations, and I suspected assignment to this ship was not of her choosing, but when I asked her why she'd chose an exploration mission when the six years after her graduation followed such a different pattern, her only response was "Too seek out new life, and new civilisations, sir." and I'm damned if I didn't get the feeling she was laughing at me!

Still, her efficiency ratings are well within acceptable range, and her promotion follows a commendation for her efforts during the emergency evacuation of Starbase 31, so I have to suppose she's equal to a simple away mission. There's no way for her to get experience but to get it, and I suppose that's Spock's thinking in naming her as the second officer for this task. Getting a herd of civilians on board an escape shuttle is a very different thing to going into a potential lethal situation, though, and the kind of qualities needed in an officer who can do the first may not match the necessities of the second.

I'd sleep better if this was a problem we could identify, and fight.  
Waiting for the other shoe to fall has always been the part of these missions I find hardest.

Meanwhile, Ann Ridley has taken over lab seven and is driving both Spock's staff and Bones to distraction with her endless demands for information and assistance. I've told her that an exploration vessel,  
even if it IS a constellation class starship, can't match a research institute in equipment or in staff, but she's determined not to lose time in her own research simply because Starfleet command thinks she's more use here at the moment, and she has a scientist's determination combined with a redhead's temper. I have to say, I don't share Starfleet's opinion. Expert in her field the Professor may be, she's nothing but a nuisance in mine...

* * *

"Sir, I've found the bodies."

Corrina Larssen, Lieutenant junior-grade, 23 years old, eight months promoted and currently freezing her fundament, bent over a seemingly innocuous drift of snow, and as Spock strode over to her she began to brush it away with one gloved hand, holding her tricorder in the other.

"Quite near the surface" said Larssen, and to prove her point uncovered a ridge of fabric, Starfleet science blue. "There's a geological fault reading just here that suggests they were pushed up from a deeper level recently." The ridge turned into an arm, and then a shoulder.

"Indeed." Spock checked his tricorder screen as Larssen brushed snow away from an icy face. "That is Commander Riboud."

"Yes." Larssen sighed, and sat back on her heels. "They got out of the wreckage, but they didn't get far."

"Fifty three feet." said Spock, turning to look at the wreckage of the shuttlecraft, other members of the away team moving busily over it.  
He opened his communicator. "Yeoman, have you determined the cause of the crash?"

Yeoman Shimona's answer came back crackling with static, although she was so close Spock could see her standing up from her task to answer him. He raised an eyebrow, and regarded the communicator suspiciously.  
"Sir, the impact was so severe it's hard to tell, but some of the stress lines on the body seem to predate the impact fractures."

"Inform me when you have a clearer determination."

"Yes sir."

Larssen, a compact, sturdy person whose pleasant but unremarkable face and habitual calm cheerfulness misled most of her acquaintances into thinking of her as small and plump, finished taking exact readings of the location of the bodies. Spock observed with approval that her composure was unshaken, although she was solemn. If there was an event capable of shaking Lieutenant Larssen's composure, the Science Department had not seen it since her transfer four months previously.

At the time, Spock had not expected her to be an outstanding addition to his team. Her service jacket and academy transcripts had indicated a competent, reliable officer with neither distinctions nor blemishes on her record. Notes from her previous commanding officers had been remarkable in their similarity: Larssen was competent, she was reliable, and they would be sorry to see her go. Spock had suspected this last to be merely a human proforma, but after four months of observing the way that tempers calmed, anxiety eased, and a myriad of tiny details settled themselves into order whenever Larssen approached, he was beginning to see their point. Her calm seemed almost infectious, spreading itself to colleagues and equipment alike,  
and even when she indulged her regrettable habit of cursing in Romulan when something did go wrong her tone was mild. Spock had yet to ascertain if she was aware he understood Romulan, let alone the idiomatic dialect she employed.

Now Larssen raised her eyebrows in inquiry, and at Spock's slight nod flipped open her communicator. "Larssen here." she said. "I have coordinates for the deceased."

White noise came back, and then a few broken words. Larssen looked at the communicator, more in sorrow than in anger, and shook it gently.  
"Say again, Enterprise. Your signal broke up just then."

"Standing -crackle - your -crackle-"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spock using his tricorder, one eyebrow up. "Enterprise, sending coordinates now." she said, and began the transmission. "Atmospheric interference, sir?"

"I cannot establish a cause with this equipment. The portable scanner may be more precise." As he turned and began to stride towards the shuttle wreckage, Larssen's communicator whistled.

"Larssen here."

"-crackle- interference, we can't -crackle- until the -crackle-"

Larssen looked at the arm protruding from the snow, still resolutely material and untransported, and made an educated guess. "Understood, Enterprise, I'll inform Commander Spock."

When she tried to do so by communicator, however, the noise that had interfered with Shimona's transmission made hers inaudible. As she slogged through the snow to where Spock knelt by the portable scanner, brought to examine the shuttle wreckage in situ, Larssen felt the beginnings of concern. Any stay on this wintry world would be uncomfortable (she was already beginning to fantasize about a hot bath) despite their cold suits, the half masks that protected their faces, and their heavy clothes and it might take some time for the Enterprise to determine the cause of the interference and neutralize it.

"Commander, the interference is preventing transporter lock," she said quietly to Spock as she knelt beside him. "and communication is becoming difficult."

"The ionisation in the upper atmosphere is becoming more extreme,"  
Spock said, "although that in itself should not cause a disruption of this extent."

"Could a similar phenomenon have caused the shuttle to crash?" The wind bit at her, and she tried unobtrusively to use her superior officer as a windbreak.

"Unlikely." He made a minute adjustment to the scanner. "The pattern of stress on the shuttle correlates to severe weather damage with a probability of 97.4 percent. It is possible that the ionisation also occurred at the time of the weather event which caused the shuttle crash."

"Why do you say that, sir?"

Spock had long since noted in Larssen the admirable trait of seeking immediate enlightenment on any point she did not understand. Curiosity was considered by most Vulcans to be a virtue rather than a vice. He regretted that the answer was not one which would have expanded Larssen's scientific knowledge. "Because, Lieutenant, we are currently experiencing the ionization, and in approximately 16.3 minutes we will be experiencing the weather. Get a shelter erected and everyone inside."

"Yes sir." she said on one breath and ran, without a moment wasted in shock. Spock continued to work the scanner, looking up occasionally to check on the progress of the survival shelter, until the storm was two minutes away. He lifted the scanner easily and started towards the shelter as Larssen came pelting out of it towards him, only to stop short when she saw he did not need help to carry the heavy equipment. She waited for him to reach her, and said "Secure as we get, sir. How long to the storm - oh." This last as she looked past him, and then with a little gasp she said, "Let's go, sir."

As Spock followed her into the shelter and turned to seal the door he saw what had drawn that odd, uncharacteristic reaction from his cheerful Lieutenant.

Forty feet away a blizzard like a wall of snow shut out the sky. He sealed the door and turned to meet the expectant gazes of the landing party.

"Our return to the Enterprise," he said, "may be delayed."

The storm hit them like the wrath of very angry god.

* * *

Captain's Log.

Some form of atmospheric interference, as yet undetermined, has interrupted communications and prevented transporter lock on the landing party members. We have had no contact with the landing party for 10 hours. In addition, although our sensors cannot penetrate the interference to the planet's surface, we can detect (as well as see with the naked eye) a massive storm pattern across that half of the planet where the landing party are stranded.

* * *

Captain Kirk closed the log entry and looked up at the planet hanging on the screen before him. He hadn't needed the sensors to tell him that the mass of cloud covering the whole of the visible planet was one doozy of a storm. It had brewed up with frightening speed, while they were still treating the communications problems with the landing party as a nuisance. He trusted Spock to have gotten the landing party into a dismountable survival shelter before the storm hit them,  
and Lieutenant Commander Iyen, the beta shift bridge officer for science, said that the severity of the storm was not worse than an earth blizzard, which meant that even if the storm had taken the landing party by surprise they would still have had a good chance of setting up a shelter in time.

That was reassuring, but Kirk felt it would be more reassuring to have Spock back on the bridge, where he belonged.

"Captain", Iyen said, "meteorology has a report on that interference."  
His long blue fingers tapped keys. "Apparently it is a combination of the high ionisation in the upper atmosphere at the atmospheric disturbance caused by the size of the storm. There are some unusual trace elements in this planet's water - or rather, in its snow - and the high concentration of snow in the atmosphere is combining with the ionisation to produce a barrier to all subspace waves."

"Can you work around it?"

"Not at the moment, sir. We can punch through it - for communication purposes only - with sufficient power."

Kirk, whose hopes had risen briefly before sinking again, turned back to his contemplation of the blizzard that consumed half a planet.  
"How long?"

"It will take 15 minutes to divert sufficient power. However,  
captain, the meteorology section reports another disturbing fact. The intensity of the interference increases as the blizzard continues. In less than one hour, we will be unable to punch through it even if we divert all power except life support."

"Then make it fast, Mr Iyen. And as soon as you can, get everyone available working on a way to defeat that interference for communication and transporters." He touched the intercom "Scotty,  
Lieutenant Commander Iyen will be sending you some instructions shortly. As soon as you've carried them out, I want you to work with meteorology on a way to get around that interference, since it seems we can't get through it. Mr Iyen and his people will join you as soon as they're free."

"Aye, sir. Now we know what we're up against, we'll have them home in time for dinner."


	2. Chapter 2

Kirk repeated his chief engineer's confident remark to Spock twenty minutes later and watched the Vulcan's eyebrow elevate.

"I fear, sir, that is not probable."

Behind Spock, the other members of the landing party were huddled in the rear of the shelter, piled together for warmth. The shelter's internal heater was working overtime. Kirk automatically counted heads and saw that they were all there: Yeoman Shimona, sleeping curled like a kitten with her head resting on Lieutenant Larssen's leg; Larssen herself, sitting quietly, her eyes on Spock and the screen of the shelter's com unit; Yeoman Brand tinkering with what looked like the shuttlecraft's 'black box'; Ensign Grenwood working on a badly damaged tricorder and Ensign Bai'tin napping in an untidy sprawl of fur covered limbs.

"I have very little to report, Captain. As yet, no data has been obtained from the shuttlecraft flight recorder or the tricorder retrieved from the wreckage. As to the interference, I have been working on the problem since I established the cause, and I have yet to determine a solution."

"You keep working, Spock, and hang in there. Between us, we should be able to come up with an answer."

The eyebrow, only recently returned to level, went up again. "I suspect that the answer will be to wait until the weather calms and the atmosphere clears. The storm shows no sign of subsiding as yet.  
As for 'hanging in there', we have nowhere else to go, but we have also nowhere to 'hang'."

Kirk grinned. The landing party was in good shape if Spock could rise to the bait. "The storm seems to be spreading, although not intensifying. With a bit of luck it'll dissipate it's energy more rapidly over a larger area. I'll get in touch when we have something positive to report."

"Indeed, Captain. I would also suggest you make contact again shortly before the window of opportunity closes, in case we have retrieved any useful data from the equipment we recovered."

Spock could tell his captain didn't like the inference they would not have a solution by the deadline, but Kirk nodded. "If it's necessary.  
Any information you need while I have the channel open?"

"The Enterprise sensor logs on the climate and weather would be useful." Kirk nodded. "Sending now. We'll have you back before you have time to analyse them."

"Of course, captain. Data received. Spock out." He closed the channel, leaving Kirk with the realization that Spock had just told a social lie.

Larssen eased Shimona's head from her leg and stood. He muscles had cramped with the cold, which had been severe until the shelter's heaters and the combined body heat of six people had taken the chill off the air, She stretched her leg, watching Spock as he bent back over his portable terminal, hesitating a moment before crossing to his side.

"Sir?" She pitched her voice low, for Vulcan hearing only. "Did the Enterprise find a way to defeat the interference?"

Spock turned and gave her a look which seemed, ineffable, to contain a trace of disapproval. "If that were so, Lieutenant, I would have told you."

"Yes, sir." She stepped firmly on the impulse to say Humans question certainty out of fear, sir. Because they don't want to believe the worst. She stepped on the impulse to say We're calm now but people are going to worry soon, and you're the officer. "That was an unnecessary question." She stepped on the impulse to ask Any news?  
He was Vulcan: he would tell them if there was any news, and he would not realize that a human would expect to hear if there was no news at all. She went back to her warmish spot between Shimona and Brand, and those still awake looked expectantly at her.

Larssen shook her head slightly. "They're still working on it." she breathed, "Might take a little while."

Grenwood's eyes were wide. This was one of his first away missions and the first in which anything had not gone exactly according to plan. "What will happen to us?"

"Worst case scenario," Larssen said calmly, "is we sit here getting increasingly bored and running all the experiments we can from inside a tent until the storm blows itself out. Best case scenario, we get beamed out in the next ten seconds and I make rehearsal on time." She played in the Enterprise's string concerto, a competent and reliable cellist. Grenwood gave her a little grin, and went back to his task.  
Larssen, with no task for the moment, settled herself back down and closed her eyes. She had long ago some to the conclusion that sleeping was something you did every chance you got in Starfleet.  
Klingons and Romulans did not change their plans of ambush simply because one Corrina Larssen had been planning a lie in that morning.  
She had once gone quietly to sleep while on stand down in the middle of a particularly protracted running fight her last ship had been in with two birds of prey, a fact that had put the rest of science section in awe for almost two weeks, until someone else had done something remarkable. She concentrated now on remembering what that succeeding remarkable feat had been and had narrowed it down to something to do with Ensign Jased and a beverage synthesizer when she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips.

She slept through Kirk's call to Spock when the deadline of the end of the communications window came up. She slept through Brand and Grenwood separately completing their salvage work and turning the devices over to Spock for him to recover what he could. She slept through quite a lot of muttered conversations between landing party members, and when she woke suddenly some hours later she was not entirely sure what had woken her but she knew that whatever it was, it had scared her.

Her heart pounding, she scanned the tent. Everyone except Spock was sleeping now. Spock was seated cross-legged at the other end of the shelter, eyes fixed on the portable computer in his lap. Larssen scanned the corners of the tent, the entrance, looking for the threat that had awakened her. Her gaze came back to Spock. He had not moved,  
not did her now, he simply sat gazing at the terminal without a flicker of expression on his face, and yet now she knew what had awakened her: Commander Spock's stillness radiated a palpable sense of threat.

Awkwardly, trying not to wake anyone, she got to her feet and tiptoed across the floor to kneel at his side. 'Commander? Has something happened to the ship?"

"I have no way of knowing." He said it almost absently, still concentrating on the screen he held, and then looked up and gave her his full attention. "Why do you ask?"

"Because..." she hesitated. "Because something's wrong." She hesitated again. "What have you found out, sir?"

He looked down at the screen again, and then up at her. "Wake the others." was all he said.

* * *

"Professor," Kirk said formally from the door of Science Lab Seven.  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have some news."

"Yes?" Ridely said, not looking up from the bioscanner she was using.  
"You've found them? Where were they hiding themselves?"

"They're dead." Kirk said simply.

Ridely didn't turn to face him, but Kirk noted that her slim shoulders stiffened, and her fingers were still on the controls for a moment.  
"Oh," she said at last, carefully pressing the 'save scan' button and swinging round in her seat. "How?"

"They took a shuttle from the base and crashed in a blizzard. There were no survivors."

"Oh. Did they - did they die in the crash?"

"No. It appears they froze to death afterwards."

"Ah." She blinked hard, biting her lip. "Well, I - I understand that that's not such a bad way - that it doesn't-" Kirk saw she was loosing the battle with tears, and tactfully looked away. "I mean, if you have to - dammit though! Joseph was so close to a breakthrough on Mansinni's Syndrome, he only needed-"

"I didn't realise you knew Commander Riboud." Kirk said, looking up.  
Her bad manners over the past few days were now revealed as anxiety,  
and a desire to bury that anxiety in work: Kirk wished he'd been less terse with her. Without the expression of impatience she'd worn every other time he'd seen her, Ann Ridley looked younger than he thought her to be, her green eyes swimming with tears. She was close to his own age, he realsised.

"He was an old friend." Ridley said softly. "We were research assistants together, years ago."

"Not that many years, surely?" Kirk asked, smiling.

"Oh," she said wearily, a catch in her voice, "it feels like the other side of forever, now." She turned her back to him and leaned her forehead against the side of the scanner. "I'd like some time alone,  
Captain."

"Certainly," Kirk said. "Call me if you need anything, Professor Ridley. I'll give my people instructions that you are to be able to reach me whenever you need."

She nodded once, and he left her be. As she heard the captain's footsteps fading away down the corridor, Ann pulled herself together and stood up. The news he'd brought her had settled inside her, chill as Ser Etta Six itself, and she shivered as she began to reset the bioscanner. Oh, Joseph, she thought, you always said I was afraid,  
and you were right. I was a coward, because cowards live longer. And you were brave, and now bravery has got you dead, and it's got me stuck on this brave ship with its brave crew and its brave captain,  
and they'll get me dead, as likely as not.

Ann would only get out of here when Kirk himself decided it was time for the Enterprise to leave. She knew enough about the Enterprise and about Captain James T Kirk to know he would never willingly leave crew behind. They would stay in orbit around this hostile planet, too close to the Romulans for any kind of comfort, until Commander Spock and the others were safely back on board or proved to be dead.  
Therefore, the sooner they found some answers to the planet's mysteries, the sooner she would be safe in her own bed. She bent to the bioscanner with a will, her hands made steady by fear.


	3. Chapter 3

"I have established the reason for the base personnel leaving the research facility, as well as for the disastrous outcome of their actions." Spock told the rest of the landing party as they crouched around him. "Five standard months ago - five standard months and nine days, to be precise - the research team at Ser Etta IV discovered a cure for Mansinni's Syndrome." He paused to let the expressions of delight subside. The syndrome, affecting many of the Federation's silicon based life forms, had previously been untreatable and inevitably fatal. "The cure is based on a mineral compound found on Realgar Seven, explored by a Federation survey team six years ago."

"That's wonderful!" Shimona cried.

"Yes, Yeoman, it would be, if it were not for the fact that the Realgar system is one of those due to be ceded to the Klingons in this year's negotiations. The negotiations will take place in a little over two standard months. The base personnel decided it was imperative they alert Starfleet of their discovery in order to have the status of Realgar Seven changed. Cut off from subspace communication by the atmospheric interference - the reason for the original silence the Enterprise was sent to investigate - they attempted to achieve orbit in their shuttlecraft - with the results we have all seen."

"That's tragic, sir." said Grenwood sombrely. "But at least they have not died in vain. When we return to the Enterprise the Captain can tell Starfleet not to give the Klingons that planet."

"Would that it were so, Mr. Grenwood. Unfortunately, the data on Commander Ribaud's tricorder indicates that the weather patterns currently preventing communication or transport are an established part of this planet's climate. Ser Etta Six has a parabolic irregularity in its orbit, and every 32.4 years goes through a series of seasons of violent meteorological activity. It was not considered an impediment to the establishment of the base as there was no knowledge at that time of the effect the weather would have on communication. I have determined that we have arrived at the beginning of one of these 'storm seasons', and it is a season that lasts three or four months."

There was a little silence, as they absorbed first the impossibility of preventing the Klingon acquisition of the disputed planet, and then their own position, trapped in a howling blizzard for at least 90 days. Spock noted that Larssen put one arm around Yeoman Shimona and took Grenwood's hand. "We have two shelters," she murmured to the Ensign, "They'll easily support us that long." Then she looked directly at Spock.

"What chance is there the Enterprise will work out a way to reach us before the negotiations, sir?"

"If you are inquiring as to the probability, Lieutenant, it is somewhat less that 2 percent."

She flinched. "I see."

"However," he went on, "there is a possibility we will be able to reach them." Turning, he pressed a key on the computer and a sectional plan of the research base appeared on the screen. "The base has a standard subspace communications unit, insufficient to penetrate this interference. It also has one of the new 497 medical analysis units, which requires a high-level dilithium power source to run. None of the base personnel had the engineering experience to know how to source the communications unit to the dilithium and boost the wave, and even if they had the communication would be too weak to reach far out of orbit. We, on the other hand, have both the technical knowledge and the certainty that there is a starship in orbit above us listening for our signal."

"Sir," said Bai'tin nervously, "The base is fifteen hundred miles away. We'd never reach it in the time before the negotiations! And besides -" He stopped, but the other members of the landing party heard his words hanging in the air: and besides, in this weather, we'd never make it at all.

"It is a difficult but achievable task, Ensign."

He looked at them steadily, but only Grenwood and Larssen met his gaze: Grenwood with a blind trust that Spock found - disconcerting - and Larssen with an equanimity he hoped she felt.

"Some of the landing party must remain here, in the event that the Enterprise is able to establish communication before we do. They may need to target the communications unit geographically, and it would be a burden on the expedition to the base. I will leave a recorded message containing all relevant information. We have two survival shelters, each capable of supporting three people for the required amount of time. As the expedition team will require a shelter, this means that only three people can be left here."

Larssen guessed he would rather leave them all, if he could. Even Ensign Bai'tin did not have the physical resources to match Commander Spock, and anyone who went with him would slow him down.

"The expedition to the research base will be difficult, and dangerous. I would prefer not to order anyone to accompany me."

"I volunteer, sir!" Grenwood said enthusiastically. "And me," Bai'tin added, and a murmur from the others followed. Spock inclined his head.

"Ensign Bai'tin, apart from myself you are most suited to survival on this planet. You are also the one among this landing party with the greatest knowledge of communications. Logic dictates, therefore, that you accompany me. Ensign Grenwood, you also will be a member of the expedition party. Lieutenant Larssen, I am leaving you in charge at this location." '

Sir", she murmured, and by the flick of her eyes at the others, she would have preferred to have privacy for her next remarks, "For the very reasons you outline, Bai'tin should remain here."

Spock raised an eyebrow, not used to having his logic questioned, but she went on doggedly: "If you don't make it to the base, sir, no-one can. And you have the expertise to set up the communicator to reach the Enterprise. If you take Bai'tin, there will be no one here with the necessary skills to adapt the communicator or to, well, to, baby it, sir, if necessary. We shouldn't have all our expertise in one group, sir."

He considered her argument, and then inclined his head. "Your reasoning is sound, Lieutenant." About to continue, However, my orders stand, he caught the sudden flicker in Bai'tin's eyes, and sensed the surge of alien emotion that came with it. It was easy to identify: relief.

Spock looked back at Larssen, and she met his eyes steadily, as if trying to beam her thoughts to him. She had no need: her expression was transparent to anyone accustomed to reading the thousand minute flickers that constituted expression on a Vulcan face. He's scared, sir. she was thinking. Don't make him go.

"I would be happy to accompany the expedition party." was all she said aloud.

Spock considered, not for the first time, that there were reasons human captains often did better with human crews.

"What are your other recommendations, Ms Larssen?" he asked.

"Ensign Grenwood on the expedition, as well, sir." she said calmly, as if she had had every confidence he would catch her unspoken plea.

He followed her reasoning, based not on the technical knowledge they would need at the base but on the ability - both physical and psychological - of the landing party members to endure the months ahead. Grenwood was very young, and resilient. He would find it easier to endure the privations of a hard trek than the enforced activity of remaining behind. Shimona was physically tiny and unsuitable for the trip, although he did not doubt her delicate appearance concealed a mental toughness equal to the task. Yeoman Brand was also afraid, Spock realized now he thought about it, but Larssen was not, and that might be a definite consideration on the journey ahead. He considered a moment, wondering if the Lieutenant's fitness was equal to the task. Her ratings in the mandatory tests some crew called "shoot and scramble" were merely adequate, and she had placed last in her class in hand-to-hand combat at the Academy. Bundled now in her cold weather gear, Larssen looked even more like a sedentary laboratory scientist that usual, with only her round face showing. Spock realised, however, he could not dismiss her for weakness. Compared to him, all the landing party members were unsuitable on that ground.

"Very well, lieutenant." He said at last. "We will prepare a travois to transport the necessary supplies and equipment. I have made a list of what will be required."

"I'll see to it, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

"Suggestions." Kirk snapped, turning from the briefing room visual display to look at his Section Heads. Iyen touched a key, and the screen of numbers behind the captain changed to a visual of the storm wrapped world below them.

"Don't look at me," McCoy said, "I'm a doctor, not a weatherman."

"As a doctor, what's your professional opinion of the situation?"

"The conditions down there are extreme," McCoy said, "but survivable,  
once the shelters are factored in. All landing party members were wearing standard cold weather gear, including cold suits with waste reclamation units, and while the shelters don't raise temperatures to comfortable levels, combined with their clothing and with the added fact that it keeps them out of the wind, they should do fine. There's food for a long stay - not tasty food, mind you. As long as they sit tight and don't do anything too energetic, there's nothing to worry about."

"And why would they be doing anything energetic, Doctor?" Scotty asked.

"With Spock in charge, they could run out into the snow to escape the relentless onslaught of pure logic!" McCoy retorted. "Just a qualification. Moving around, exposed to the weather, they'd chill faster and burn more calories - calories they need to stay warm. Most of the landing party are human, and they could get frostbite or a whole range of interesting problems if they spend too much time exposed."

"We'll presume they have the sense to stay put." Kirk said. "How long before their supplies become a problem?"

The quartermaster leaned forward. "They'll be peckish in two months,  
hungry in three. They could do four without too much trouble. The heating units in the shelters would keep each shelter heated for four months continuous use without burning out, assuming minimal entry and exit to keep the heat inside."

"The snow melts to potable water." McCoy added.

"Glad it's good for something," Kirk muttered and turned to Iyen.  
"What avenues are you exploring to get them out of there?"

"Sir, while engineering attempts to develop a way to defeat the interference, we are attempting to end it. It may be possible to alter the weather patterns sufficiently to bring the storm to an end."

"It doesn't look like ending at all at the moment." McCoy was looking at the display of the planet. "It's covered more than half the planet."

"If we could even induce it to move enough for the landing party location to be out from under it..."

"Any progress?"

"Ideas only, at this stage, sir."

"Alright, all of you, good work, let's get this solved. We're far too close to the Neutral Zone as it is. I'd rather not hang around here while it snows for forty days and forty nights."

Murmurs of agreement, the meeting ended, the others filed out. Only McCoy lingered, as Kirk glared at the display of the planet.

"Spock shouldn't have any unusual trouble with the temperature, if that's what eating you." he told Kirk.

"I suppose that was part of it," Kirk admitted with a sigh. "Vulcans are adapted to searing heat, not searing cold..."

"He's not a pure Vulcan, remember, although his physiology is pretty damn close. Actually, although he'll find the cold more uncomfortable than the others, his higher body temperature combined with the cold suit will serve him well down there. Even a full Vulcan would be just fine. They're actually less prone to frostbite than humans are. They might be evolved for heat, but they're all around tough as nails."  
McCoy studied his friend for a moment. "Jim ... they'll be fine.  
Spock will take care of them."

"Spock's a damn good officer, but relations with the crew are not his strong point." Turning back to the display, Kirk shook his head.  
"That's usually no liability, but if they're stuck down there any length of time, in confined quarters... They'll have trouble dealing with it. Two of them are only ensigns. How will Spock handle that?"

"In his own way." McCoy said. "With logic. He might be second cousin to an adding machine, but the crew down there know and trust him. You have to trust him, too."

Kirk nodded wearily. "I know. I know, Bones, but I don't have to like it. Who knows what else this planet is waiting to spring on them?"

* * *

Erecting the shelter after the first day of traveling was, as Larssen put it, "Rather less fun than a barrel of monkeys." When Spock inquired as to the relation between a container of terran simians and the construction of an emergency survival shelter, Ensign Grenwood turned aside with what seemed to be laughter, and so Spock simply filed the matter as one which would bear further investigation. When Larssen greeted the emergence of her favourite flavour of ration pack from the supplies they carried with "Well, I'll be a Tumerok temple dancer!" and Spock took it as an invitation to inquire as to her belief in reincarnation, Grenwood was again forced to study his feet,  
shoulders shaking.

"How far did we travel today, sir?" Larssen asked sweetly.

"Twenty four miles." Spock said. He was about to add We must increase our pace when he was interrupted.

"Powder my nose and call me Petunia!" said Larssen.

Spock gave her a level gaze, one eyebrow raised to its limit.  
"Lieutenant, if that is an instruction, I am afraid I am unable to comply."

"Mmph!" said Grenwood, and became desperately busy with something at the other end of the tent. Larssen flushed under Spock's scrutiny,  
but did not look away.

"Yes sir." she said. "Sorry, sir." She tilted her head a little in Grenwood's direction. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

Spock looked from her to the ensign, who had completely forgotten the struggle of the day in his current struggle not to let Spock see his laughter.

"See that it does not." he said severely, but he nodded slightly to Larssen. She was welcome to use esoteric human idioms if they raised morale, and he was willing to take them literally if that, too, raised Grenwood's spirits. "I am still waiting," he added even more sternly,  
"for an explanation of the unnecessary confinement of simian primates in a round wooden container."

"You're a good sport, sir." Larssen said later, after Grenwood had fallen into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

"Morale is a serious issue, Lieutenant. You seem ... well able ... to attend to Ensign Grenwood's morale."

"Yes, sir." She said, correctly reading the order beneath the compliment. "How much faster do we need to go tomorrow?"

"We need to cover 30 miles a day, at least." Spock said. "If we cannot travel faster, we must travel longer."

Larssen sighed. The day had been a torture of cold, treacherous footing, unending effort. Fifty-nine more days of the same was not something she was going to contemplate. "Since our visibility is so poor anyway," she suggested, "perhaps we should start earlier, rest in the middle of the day, and travel later each night. We could possibly manage twelve or thirteen hours each day if we put up the shelter half way and had a few hours to warm up and rest."

Spock, who had called a halt today when his human companions had begun to stumble with exhaustion, considered it. "We will try that tomorrow." he said. "I am unsure whether frequency or duration of recovery time is the most critical factor in these conditions."

"We'll be in trouble if it's both!" she said dryly.

"Indeed. Lieutenant, I have been awaiting a chance to ask you about the reasoning behind your recommendations on the composition of the expeditionary party. I believe you ruled out Yeoman Shimona on physical reasons."

"Yes, sir. She's tough as they come but she could never pull the travois all day." Then she remembered that in fact Spock had been the only one to pull the travois all day, the two human crew members taking turns at the other handle. "I mean, even as much as Bob -  
Ensign Grenwood - and I."

"I am aware that the Ensign's first name is Robert, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. What I'm trying to say - Bai'tin and Brand ... they're strong, sir. But they've seen more than Grenwood, they can imagine what this trip could be like. Bob is too raw to take today's travel and multiply it by sixty, he doesn't know how bad things can get.  
That gives him an advantage, he won't be weighed down by dreading it the whole way. With luck, we'll be there before it really sinks in."

"And yourself?"

"The only one left, sir." she said promptly. "Quaking with abject terror, but ready to serve."

"I observe no 'quaking'."

"I'm Enterprise crew, sir, everyone knows we only quake on the inside." Spock could not imagine a demeanour less indicative of terror than that Larssen displayed as she sat by the heating unit, running a comb through her long brown hair. She glanced up and grinned at him.  
"Besides which, I don't have enough imagination. It's not valued where I come from, which makes me less effective as a officer, but it's a decided bonus when you have to walk fifteen hundred miles in a blizzard."

Spock regarded her until she looked away. "Do you consider me less effective as an officer because I lack imagination?"

"No sir! That would be insubordinate - and untrue. You are a very imaginative officer."

"On Vulcan, that would not be considered a compliment."

"Sir, I've served with several Vulcans, and I've found they all have imagination to spare. I don't mean fancy, or fantasy, or fiction. I mean the kind of imagination that lets people see where they want to go and imagine the steps they need to take. In humans, hope and despair are both dependant on having that kind of imagination. In Vulcans, I'm not sure. I've been told Vulcans don't hope. But they also don't ever seem to give up, which looks like hope to an outsider."

"Some Vulcans hope," he said, "and some even despair. But I think you are talking about something Vulcans call tal'ath'at. It means 'forward reaching of the mind.'"

Larssen looked up at him, replaiting her hair. "Vulcan is an admirably precise language." she said. "That would seem to be exactly what I mean." She smiled again. "Goodnight, sir. I'll try to keep the idioms down to the minimum necessary tomorrow."

"I would be grateful, Lieutenant." he said in his driest tone. His curiosity stirred, he would have liked to ask her what culture she came from, where tal'ath'at was so unvalued children did not develop it, but they had only a limited time to rest, and it would be inconsiderate - and irresponsible - to keep her from hers simply to satisfy his curiosity about the diversity of the universe.

* * *

Captain's Log, Stardate 3894.2

Lieutenant Commander Iyen, in his capacity as acting science officer,  
has put forward a plan to affect the weather patterns interfering with our communications, sensors, and transporters. Although ending the storm does not seem possible, Mr Iyen has proposed "seeding" the storm clouds with modified photon torpedos at carefully selected points. We hope that the changes in barometric pressure this will produce will encourage the storm to move towards the southern hemisphere of Ser Etta Six, away from the landing party. I have ordered that his plan be put into effect.

* * *

"Everything's ready, sir." Iyen said from the science station. He was fidgeting with tension, and Kirk made the automatic comparison with Spock's unbreakable calm, and then chided himself for doing so.  
He would not make Iyen's duty easier by being hard on him just because he wasn't Spock. He had done an excellent job and a lion's share of the workload bringing her plan to the point of implementation, and as an Andorrian he could hardly be expected to show emotional restraint.  
Andorrians were well known for their trait of expressing every emotion they felt, usually loudly, as soon as they felt it. On an Andorrian ship, even the bridge crew might burst into tears on a reversal of fortune, or leap in excitement at good news. Indeed, Iyen's feelers were flickering with apprehension, his skin an ever deeper hue of blue than usual.

"Good job, Mr Iyen," Kirk made a point of saying.

"Targeting transmitted to tactical." he reported, his voice a little easier. "Ready for your word, captain."

"Mr Chekov, fire when ready." Kirk said.

"Aye, sir!" Chekov checked his console just to be sure the trajectories were set, and pressed the fire commands. "First three torpedoes away, sir. Second three away. Last torpedos away, sir."

Unconsciously, everyone on the bridge leaned towards the viewscreen,  
as if that would somehow give a better view. McCoy, standing by the captain's chair, even took a step forward. For a tryingly long moment, nothing at all happened, and then there was a spark of light among the clouds, followed by another, and another.

"Detonation complete, sir." Iyen said unnecessarily. "Seeding commencing." Alone of all the bridge crew, his eyes were on his console, not the screen. "Sensors indicate break-up in the upper level of cloud at detonation points. Barometric pressure lowering."

A long pause. "Break-up continuing, sir, although at a slower rate than anticipated. Pressure is drawing surrounding cloud into the detonation locations, stabilising the fall."

Kirk could see the thinning of the storm at the detonation points now,  
and the inrush of surrounding cloud. He held his breath. If a chain reaction would only start... He willed the movement of the storm to become a rush, to carry the whole lot off with it.

Iyen spoke again, and his voice was dull. "Break-up is stabilising,  
sir. Pressure has stopped falling. Barometric pressure at detonation points steady, pressure rising now, sir."

Kirk turned fiercely. "Send another barrage." he ordered. "Keep it going!"

"It would take six days to modify another 9 torpedos, sir." Iyen said,  
though he looked petrified to refuse the captain. "Twelve days to set up a second barrage of double the strength. And," he swallowed hard,  
"my calculations indicate - based on the data we have gathered from this attempt - that in order to successfully divert the storm, sir..."  
He stopped, wringing his hands.

"Yes?" Kirk said. 'in order to successfully affect the storm WHAT?"

"We'd need four hundred photon torpedoes, sir." he said faintly, with his eyes closed.

Four hundred! That was the entire complement the Enterprise had aboard! It would take an enormous effort of time and labour to modify all of them with the seeding adjustments Iyen had designed, and it would leave the Enterprise without one half of her firepower if they came under attack. Kirk bit his lip.

"Well?" McCoy asked impatiently. "He's waiting for your order,  
Captain."

"Consider alternate plans." he told Iyen at last.

"What?" McCoy spluttered.

"In my ready room, doctor." Kirk said, trying to head off yet another confrontation with Bones in the middle of the bridge.

"In your ready room my left testi - err, tentacle!" snapped the doctor. "You're not going to LEAVE them there, are you? So what if it costs a lot in photon torpedos? Last time I looked, you didn't worry about the cost when you were blowing people up with them!"

"Bones." said Kirk softly. Careful, old friend, his hazel eyes warned.

"Don't you 'Bones' me, damnit! Well? ARE you going to leave them down there?"

"We might need the photon torpedos." Kirk explained with great, and obvious, patience. "If someone attacks us, for instance. Like the Romulans, for instance. We are only a day's travel from the Neutral Zone. I haven't heard you complaining when using photon torpedos on enemy ships have kept THIS ship, and this crew, and YOU, alive."

"Then get our people out of there and let's be on our way!" McCoy retorted. "I know the Captain's chair has a bad effect on thinking,  
but I never thought I'd see the day when you -"

"That's enough, doctor!" Kirk's voice echoed around the bridge and crewmembers who had been unobtrusively listening bent to their stations with a will. "I am doing and I will do everything possible to get out people back on this ship, but I will not endanger the rest of the crew to do so! That is my decision, and my order, is that understood?"

McCoy glared at him for a moment, unwilling to admit he'd gone too far. "You're the captain, Captain." he muttered at last. Kirk recognised McCoy's worst insult.

"My god, doctor, recognition of the chain of command at last? What is the world coming to?" Kirk didn't wait for McCoy to come up with another reply. "I believe you have duties in sickbay, doctor, and not on the bridge. SEE TO THEM!"

Even Sulu jumped at the roar. McCoy found himself at the turbolift doors without having made a decision to move. He drew breath to retort as he stepped in to the lift, and then looked at Kirk's face and thought better of it.

Safely in the lift, he said: "Sickbay," and as the lift dropped and he was sure he was out of earshot of the bridge, added, "Yes, captain."  
with a bitter emphasis on the second word.

* * *

Spock, Larssen and Grenwood managed quite well for the first twenty days or so. Spock varied the pattern of travel and rest, so that on some days they began early and finished late, with one or more breaks in the shelter during the day and on some they travelled in one persistent effort with longer to recover when they day ended. Larssen maintained her air of calm cheerfulness, though there were shadows beneath her eyes and the bones of her face were growing sharper beneath the skin. She cajoled and encouraged Grenwood at every opportunity, telling jokes which grew more and more risqué as Grenwood grew harder to distract.

Spock noted that Grenwood's strength seemed to be ebbing faster than Larssen's: the young man was losing weight more quickly, as well,  
though all three of them were thinner than they had been. One night in the third week Spock was awakened by the Ensign crying in his sleep, and sat up to see Larssen kneeling beside him, murmuring soothing phrases and stroking his hair. When Grenwood grew quiet and slipped back into deeper sleep, she looked up.

"It's the cold." she said softly to Spock. "He can't rest properly because of the cold." She pulled her own sleeping bag over to Grenwood and curled up beside him, trying to give him some of her body heat. Spock noted that she did the same on each night after that, and Grenwood's sleep grew easier. He still dreamed, though, and muttered and tossed until Larssen woke and calmed him.

"Lieutenant," Spock said to her one morning, "You need to get adequate rest yourself."

"I can always sleep, sir." she said disingenuously, though there were black stains of fatigue beneath her eyes. "I'm famous for it." And then, quietly, "Trust me on this, Commander. I may have been wrong about Grenwood."

By the beginning of the second month, it was obvious to Spock that Grenwood was in considerable distress. His face was haggard, he fell more and more often, and even without taking a turn pulling the travois he had trouble keeping up with them.

Their periods of travel grew shorter, the rests longer. Spock began to consider the possibility that they could not reach the base in anything like time. Without the shelter, he could not attempt the trip alone, but without the shelter Larssen and Grenwood would not survive.  
The ensign's worsening condition made it possible that they would have to stop altogether and abandon the attempt to reach the base, or at least delay it for an unacceptable amount of time. Spock was aware that the time was approaching when he would have to make such a decision, and it seemed there was no way out of the dilemma. If he took the shelter and its heat-source, he could easily reach the base and inform the enterprise of the importance of the Realgar system.  
Thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of lives would be saved. On the other hand, Larssen and Grenwood would certainly die. He sensed that Larssen was also aware of the situation, and perplexingly, the decision he had to make was made more difficult by the knowledge that she would accept a death sentence with a calm "Yes, sir." and a smile.

As they trudged through the snow side by side, Grenwood hanging on to the edge of the travois for support as he stumbled behind them, Spock also contemplated the equanimity that Larssen claimed sprang from lack of tal'ath'at. Perhaps humans would benefit from rather less tal'ath'at in general. Larssen certainly behaved more rationally without it.

While he was still considering the choice he must make, the decision was taken out of his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

"Captain. Captain. Captain." The incessant tone of his com woke Kirk from a sleep made restless by frustration. He leaned over and slapped the button with a surge of hope. He had left instructions he was to be wakened the very minute they worked out a solution to the problem that kept the Enterprise in useless orbit with her First Officer and assorted crew members trapped below. It had been nearly 40 days and they were well behind schedule. Only his insistence to Starfleet Command that the missing crew were still alive had prevented them from being ordered to proceed to their next assigned survey mission.

That sector will still be there next week! he'd snapped at Admiral Bantry. I have every confidence that Commander Spock has ensured the absolute safety of the landing party. They are out of communication,  
not missing!

That was something less than the truth. In his off-watch hours, he repeated to himself over and over, I'd know if something had happened to Spock. I'd know if something had happened to Spock. Rationally,  
he knew that he'd likely know nothing at all. He had told too many families, too many bereaved spouses, that their loved ones were dead,  
had seen too many taken by complete surprise to believe that mere affection could guarantee a special delivery psychic message to announce a death. Still, as he waited for sleep each night, he could not believe that Spock could be gone and he, James Kirk, would not know. That was simply not possible.

"Kirk." he said to the com. "Tell me this is good news."

"Captain," Iyen said quietly, "no sir. We've detected a geological tremor on the planet, sir. I thought you would want to know - I mean,  
want to be informed."

An earthquake. An earthquake in a blizzard. "Any idea how badly it hit the area the landing party is in?"

"Seven on the Richter scale, sir. However, as there aren't any structures or possible sources of landslides there, the chances of injury are considerably reduced."

"I understand, Mr Iyen. Thank you. Kirk out." He sat up and wondered once again why it was an unbreakable habit to thank the bearers of bad news. Spock, he thought, blast your pointy ears, once I get you back on this ship you'll never see a landing party again. McCoy's acidic comment some days ago that Captain Kirk was now in the position he had left the rest of the crew in on several memorable occasions had done nothing to soothe his temper. Spock, damn you, it's long past time for you to pull a rabbit out of your hat.

* * *

Spock would have been glad, at that point, to pull himself out of the ravine that had opened beneath his feet when the earthquake hit. The tremor had thrown them all to the ground, and bounced the travois into the air. Caught by the wind, it had flipped and skittered, dragging Larssen and Spock with it, and then there had been empty space beneath him, and a jolt as the travois somehow caught on something in that featureless plain and his grip on the harness brought him up short of a lethal fall. With no knowledge of the security of the travois, he could not count on that state of affairs continuing. He also dared not cause the travois to shift in his efforts to pull himself up. Already,  
there had been one disconcerting movement when he tried to brace his feet against the side of the chasm. He held on, and raised his voice.

"Larssen!" He hoped she had not also fallen. Her harness strap flapped in the wind beside him. If she had gone over the edge, she had not kept her grip. He could not see the bottom of the fall through the blowing snow.

"Larssen!"

"Sir!" She seemed to be a short distance away. "Wait!"

Larssen had already realised that Spock still hung on to the travois from the way the right hand harness was pulled taught over the edge of the chasm while the left danced around in the gale. She had thrown herself spreadeagled on the travois as she saw the pit beneath them and managed to bring it slamming to the ground. Now she scrabbled in the pack that held the shelter and drew out the 'pegs' that shot themselves into the ground like pistons and held the survival shelter down in high wind. There was high tensile rope in another pack, and she fastened it to the first peg and drove it into the ground beside the travois. Rolling across the sled she shot a second peg on the other side, and then back again, until the travois was strapped down with the rope crisscrossing it.

"Grenwood!" she shouted. He had fallen not far away and was not moving. "Bob, come here! I need you!"

He moved, looked up, but made no move to get up. "Bob! Now!"

Grenwood shook his head. She could see his lips moving but anything he said was whipped away by the wind. She could also see that he was crying, and when he covered his face with his hands, still shaking his head, she cursed herself for thinking he was a good choice for this expedition. Wrong, Corrina, very very wrong.

It was twenty five seconds since Spock had disappeared from view.  
Tentatively, she lifted her weight from the sled. It held firm, and she crawled to the edge of the ravine and looked down. Spock hung about ten feet below her, at the end of the harness strap, his face turned up to her. "I've got the sledge pinned with the shelter pegs."  
she shouted. "Can you climb up?"

She saw him feel with his feet for purchase, brace to reach up for a better handhold, and the sled moved sickeningly. "Dogs!" Larssen spat in Romulan, and hastily she flung herself back, added her weight to the travois until it stopped moving. Hardly daring to look, she raised her head and saw that the harness strap still hung taught with a weight at the end of it.

They dare not lose the travois. Without the supplies on it, they would not survive long. Quickly, she unfastened the packs that held the shelter and one of the food packs and pushed them to one side.  
The sled moved again and slid another inch towards the ravine. Out of time, Corrina. Get moving.

She grabbed the rest the rope, wrapped it around her waist and stepped to the edge of the chasm. "Sir!" she called. "Heads up!" and dropped the rope. It fell close enough to Spock for him to grab it, and Larssen took two strides back. "Ready!" she called.

The shock of his weight as he took hold of the rope drove her to her knees and she felt the rope bite even through the layers of her clothing. Gritting her teeth, she clamped her hands on the rope and fought back to her feet, bracing herself backwards. Each twitch of the rope as Spock climbed was a threat to her balance. Not daring to look sideways to see if the travois was still secure, Larssen kept her eyes fixed on the rope disappearing over the edge. If the travois started sliding, she had no idea what she would do.

To her immense relief, a gloved hand appeared at the chasm's edge,  
followed by another, and then Spock pulled himself to safety and crawled clear. Larssen staggered wildly backwards as he let go of the rope and then fell flat on her back.

"Lieutenant," said Spock, "There is a high probability of aftershocks.  
We must move to a place of safety immediately." He turned. "Ensign Grenwood!"

Lifting her head, Larssen saw that Grenwood hadn't moved in response to the command. Oh, Bob, she thought sadly, and clambered to her feet.  
Spock had already taken a medical tricorder from the travois and was striding towards Grenwood when Larssen caught up with him. "Let me,  
sir." she said.

He yielded the tricorder to her with a raised eyebrow. "The packs off the side of the travois are the shelter and food, sir." she went on. "I didn't want to lose everything."

"Indeed, a logical decision."

Larssen waited until he had turned to repack the travois and drawn it away from the chasm before hurrying to Grenwood. The tricorder told her little she didn't know: low body temperature, thready pulse, signs of shock.

"Bob," she said, kneeling beside him, "we have to get out of here.  
There could be another tremor. Come on; let's get up now. Let's get up."

He stared at her. "I thought you would both got over." he said, barely audible through the wind. "I thought - I was afraid -"

"We're fine, Bob. We're doing fine. You have to get up now. Come on, let's get up."

He shook his head again, burying his face in his hands. "Leave me."  
she heard him whisper. "I can't ... I can't ..."

"Bob, please."

"No..."

Larssen got to her feet, slogged over to where Spock had pulled the sled clear. "Sir, he's done in. We'll have to pack him on the travois, he can't walk."

"How badly is he injured?"

At her hesitation, Spock turned his full attention on her. "He's not - injured - sir. He's just - he's gone his limit." Larssen's eyes were full of worry as she looked at him, and then, reluctantly, said:  
"He asked to be left behind, sir."

"That is not an acceptable course of action." Spock said, and noted as a subject for further consideration her relief at his words. "How long to you estimate he can endure the temperature while travelling on the travois?"

"He'll chill fast if he's not moving, sir. Half and hour, maybe?"

Spock examined his tricorder. "There is an area of solid rock approximately 400 yards south of here. We should be safe from aftershocks there."

He began dragging the travois towards Grenwood, and Larssen quickly took one side and helped him.


	6. Chapter 6

Kirk was walking his ship. He tried to be out and about on the lower

decks of the Enterprise as often as he could, to see the crew who did

not, in the ordinary course of their duties, encounter the captain.

It was also a habit of his, when worried or trying to think, to patrol

the corridors of the Enterprise as if guarding her from intruders.

Crewmembers on night shift nodded to him as they went about their

business, most knowing their captain well enough to realise that no

more formal acknowledgement was needed, Kirk being where he didn't

need to be, and it being the middle of alpha shift's night. Kirk

looked in on hydroponics, complimented the yeoman in charge of the

food synthesizers on the truly excellent night shift chicken-with-

almonds-and-don't-ask, refrained from asking, and went on to

engineering.

To his untrained eye, everything seemed to be fully functional in

engineering, although if there had been anything short of a major

coolant leak he probably wouldn't have spotted it. He congratulated

the engineering shift on meeting Mr Scott's high standards, suffered

himself to be given a personal tour of the phasar banks by an

enthusiastic Lemurian Lieutenant, then stuck his head into sickbay

(having made sure McCoy was off shift) to see if there was anyone

there who needed cheering.

There wasn't, and he found his steps tending towards science lab

seven. Ann Ridley was there, as she usually was even this late into

the night, bent over a mass spectrometer with a PADD in one hand.

Kirk coughed, to let her know he was there, and she said, absently:

"Hold on one minute there."

Kirk wondered if her reaction would have been different if she'd known

it was the captain behind her. Probably, he thought with wry

amusement, not.

Ridley showed a single-minded dedication to her work that was

impressive, although her temper was less obvious these days. She

finished what she was doing and turned. "Oh, captain." she said. "Is

anything wrong?"

"My inner clock," he said, smiling. "I can't sleep. What are you up

to?"

"I'm trying to reconstruct as much of the Ser Etta research as I can.

It's possible that the shuttle crash had something to do with a bio-

toxin containment breach or something else that made them do something

\- so stupid."

"What have you found?"

"Nothing as yet. Joseph - Riboud - was working on Mansinni's

syndrome, but that's silicon based and unlikely to have effected any

of the research team. Everything else seems pretty much what you'd

expect." She perched herself on a lab stool and indicated that he

should do the same. Kirk did, feeling a little undignified with his

feet dangling. "I'm sorry, Captain. I wish I could have found

something to help with your people, but planetary weather isn't really

my speciality."

"It isn't the speciality of many, in Starfleet." Kirk said.

"Substeller weather is more our kind of thing. And, please, call me

Jim."

"Jim." she said, smiling slightly. "I'm Ann." Even smiling, she looked

sad.

"It's kind of late for you to still be here, Ann."

"Same as you, I couldn't sleep. I keep wishing I could do something

useful, but all I can think of is the base research, and that isn't

particularly useful."

"You never know, on an starship mission." Kirk told her, meaning to be

light. Perhaps the memory of all the other times 'you never know' had

turned out to be unimaginably deadly reached his voice, or his eyes,

because Ann looked at him quizzically. "I mean," he corrected himself,

"you can't predict what happens, or what's important, in a situation

full of unknowns. A side branch of some innocuous type of biological

research could turn out to hold the key to a whole new science of

weather management, for example." It was weak, and he knew it, but she

gave him a smile the joke didn't deserve.

"I was thinking of trying the night shift chicken-with-almonds-and-

don't-ask." he ventured. "Care to join me?"

"You actually call it that?"

"Right on the synthesiser board. It's a long Starfleet tradition."

"This I have to see," Ann said sceptically, getting to her feet.

"What else do you have on that board?"

He laughed. 'With 430 crew from nearly 50 different species, what

don't we have? From alphabet soup to zircon, the synthesizers handle

it all."

She rewarded him with another smile, and as they went down the hall to

the turbolift he began telling her about the needs of the two

crewmembers who consumed only light beams, and then the highly

carnivorous Gips, who required that their meals be alive... By the

time he got her to laugh, they were nearly finished their meal, and

Kirk realised with a sudden stab of guilt, he hadn't worried about

Spock more than twice in the time...

* * *

The first aftershock hit as they were raising the shelter, but the

rock beneath them was solid enough and no cracks opened up beneath

them. Larssen lost hold of the rope she was fastening and muttered

"Dogs copulating" in Romulan, and then "Dogs copulating with their

ancestors" when she had to search through the snow for the peg it went

with, but they got the shelter up in good time and dragged Grenwood,

travois and all, inside.

Larssen began ministering to the ensign and Spock let her. He found

the young man's obvious emotional distress physically uncomfortable at

close quarters, and remained at the other end of the survival shelter,

analysing his readings of the geological event they had just endured.

He ran his readings against his recording of the area where the rest

of the landing party had remained, and noted that they were in minimal

danger, before turning his attention to plotting a route for the rest

of the expedition that would take them through the areas of greatest

geological safety. Hearing Larssen crossing the shelter to him, he

looked up.

"I have established a low probability of harm to Yeoman Brand and the

others." he said, and she smiled. He noted the signs of strain around

her eyes and mouth and hoped she too would not collapse. He was not

sure what he would do if both his human crew curled up in the corner

sobbing and refusing to move. It was not a situation he had

experience with.

"Bob's sleeping." she said, and for the first time her quiet voice was

soft with fatigue rather than composure. Spock wondered how much of

her previous equanimity had been assumed for Ensign Grenwood's

benefit. "Or rather, he's passed out. I shot him full of delactovine

and adrenalse, but he needs proper medical care, sir."

Larssen knew as well as Spock that proper medical care was on the

Enterprise or at the research base.

"Can he endure further travel?"

She shook her head. "The cold will kill him long before we could get

him to the base, sir."

"Then we will remain here." he said.

"That will only ... delay ... matters, sir." Larssen said. "It's not -

it's not just physical, sir. He's given up, sir."

Spock had observed in the past that the more emotional species in the

Federation were prone to psychological ailments that could produce

fatal symptoms, particularly when combined with physical distress.

Despair makes even shallow cuts fatal, Dr McCoy had said once,

explaining the otherwise inexplicable death of a crew member.

Spock knew also that such ailments could be reduced, even relieved: he

had seen Jim Kirk persuade crew who were ready to lie down and die to

perform at the highest levels of efficiency. Unfortunately, he did

not know how his captain achieved this, or how to replicate it. He

said as much to Lieutenant Larssen.

"I don't either." she admitted. "I'm no Captain Kirk, sir."

And neither are you. her eyes said, before she turned away, and went

to lie down beside Grenwood.

Grenwood did not improve with a day of rest, and Spock realised that

the decision to go on without Larssen and Grenwood, leaving them to

die, or to give up the attempt to reach the base, was upon him.

However, it no longer seemed like an impossible dilemma. When he had

told Larssen that leaving Grenwood behind was not acceptable, he had

meant it. He would remain here with the two Enterprise crew and

preserve their lives to the best of his abilities. The thought of the

lost lives that the cure for Mansinni's Syndrome might have saved

weighed on him, but with a regret for the unachievable rather than an

urgent imperative.

When Larssen raised the matter with him in the evening, he told her

so. Instead of looking relieved, she frowned.

"You should go on, sir. I mean - I'd rather you didn't, personally,

but it's the logical thing."

"I have long ago ceased to be surprised," he told her "at human's

ideas of logical behaviour. Simply because something is what you

least desire to do, does not, automatically, make it the logical

option."

She did not seem to understand, "No, sir, but in this case, there are

so many who could be saved by that information, against me, and Bob.

I thought, anyway - we could build a sort of igloo, perhaps? And then

we'd be alright while you were gone."

"Not without a heat source, Lieutenant, and we have only one of

those."

"Bob is dying anyway." Larssen said tightly, as if he had not grasped

that fact.

"And you desire me to hasten his death? And cause yours?"

"No! No, but -" She paused. 'I - can't bear to think of - of all

those people, the last time there was a major outbreak of Mansinni's

tens of thousands died, I can't stand it, sir." Her face was set as

she looked up at him. "I can't let myself think about it sir, I can't

let it happen. The needs of the many - outweigh the needs of the few.

Of mine. And Bob's."

"Lieutenant," he said patiently, "that is an aspect of Vulcan

philosophy which is widely misunderstood. It might be the criteria

for a decision if all other possibilities were closed. However, a

great many things may yet happen. The Enterprise might discover a way

to communicate with us, even to transport us off the planet. The

negotiations could be delayed. The Realgar system could have become a

Federation priority for another reason while we have been out of

communication. The necessary compound may be discovered on another

planet, or a method of synthesising it may be invented. All of these

things are possible. If I take the shelter and the heat source and

travel on without you, these things remain possible, and I add another

possibility to them: that I reach the base in time to communicate with

the Enterprise and affect the negotiations. If I do so, however,

Ensign Grenwood's possibilities - and your own - end here. That is an

outcome I am not prepared to cause. This is not a matter for

discussion."

"Yes sir." she murmured. He moved back slightly, instinctively, at

the sudden surge of her emotions, but she controlled herself quickly.

"I'm very sorry, Commander."

"You have nothing to apologise for." he told her, puzzled.

"I made a bad mistake with Grenwood. He'd still be back at the other

shelter, bored and safe, if I -"

"Your reasoning is faulty, Lieutenant. I chose Grenwood for this

expedition before you made your suggestions as to the composition of

the party. You have performed your duties to the utmost of your

capability, which is all that anyone can expect."

"Yes, sir." she said miserably, and stared down at her hands. Spock

was aware that another officer - Kirk, perhaps, or McCoy, or

Montgomery Scott - would have spoken, then, and found something to say

which offered comfort, and hope. He was not them, and did not know

how to go about such a thing. Nonetheless, Larssen was his

responsibility, and he could not allow her to sink into the despair

that had overtaken Ensign Grenwood. Spock cleared his throat.

"Do not spend time considering irrelevant possibilities, Lieutenant.

Such speculation is fruitless."

"'Irrelevant possibilities'? You mean, what if you'd left all of us

and gone alone, taking the risk the other shelter would support five?

What if I'd suggested Brand instead of Grenwood? What if I'd hit the

panic button the minute communications began to be disrupted?"

"That is precisely what I mean. We must deal with the universe as it

is, not as we would like it to be."

"Regretting nothing?"

"To regret is human, Lieutenant. But I do not regret you were there

to help me out of the ravine yesterday. If you must speculate, that

is one 'what if' you should consider. If you had not been there, I

would undoubtedly have died."

"You would have got yourself out somehow, sir."

"Your faith is reassuring," Spock said dryly, "and if you should

establish what that 'somehow' would have been I would like to know -

for future reference."

She grinned, then, and it was close to her normal expression.

"Possibly," he went on "without you and the ensign along, I would have

been closer to the base and in an area of more severe disturbance.

When you consider actions you could have taken or choices your could

have made differently, remember that they could have had unforseen

negative outcomes as surely as the choices and actions you did take."

"Yes, sir." she said, and Spock saw that it was more than a formal

acknowledgement. Larssen's eyes were clearer, and her she sat a little

straighter. "Thank you, sir."

He inclined his head, and turned back to his tricorder, where he was

running one more set of frequency analyses on the atmospheric

interference. This was a most uncomfortable conversation, and one he

had no desire to continue. Larssen, however, did not recognise (or

chose not to recognise) the non-verbal instruction to let the matter

lie.

"Sir, this "dealing with the universe as it is", I seem to remember

reading something about it in the writings of Surak."

He looked up again. "Yes, Lieutenant, it is one of Surak's sayings."

"Is that how Vulcans seem to - manage - so well?"

He laid the tricorder aside, and she went on hastily: "I'm sorry if

that's a privacy issue, sir. Forget I -"

"No, Ms Larssen. Surak's teachings are not private to Vulcans. His

instructions to celebrate diversity would preclude such an

interpretation."

"Then - is there some way you could teach me to understand that, sir?

To accept things as they are?"

He regarded her impassively. "It is not a question of teaching,

Lieutenant, but one of learning. Many of Surak's lessons are connected

to the mind disciplines which are unique to Vulcan, and to Vulcans.

While I am able to describe the philosophy of Surak, and repeat his

words, that does not necessarily mean you would be able to learn."

"No, sir." Larssen said. "I see." She gave a slight shrug, and

turned away. "Just a thought."

He watched her as she checked Grenwood's condition again and busied

herself with double-checking their food supplies. They might well be

forced to remain here for some time, Spock reasoned, and while the

enforced inactivity would have no effect on him, it might well have a

deleterious effect on Lieutenant Larssen's morale. As she finished

checking the food supplies and turned to the equally unnecessary task

of double-checking their medical supplies, he spoke.

"Lieutenant. Surak wrote that the first necessary lesson was to

surpass fear. The relevant part of his writings used the analogy of a

lematya in one's house. Until one admitted the presence of the

lematya, he wrote, one could not call animal control and have it

removed. Refusing to admit the presence of the lematya might save

one's pride, but it will not make the lematya go away. Similarly,

pretending not to be afraid is not the same thing as casting out fear.

To understand Surak's teachings, one must first understand this."

Larssen had given him her full attention as he spoke, and nodded. "I

will try to do so, sir."

He noted that she did not turn to another unnecessary task, but sat

down beside Grenwood, her expression thoughtful. Spock could not

judge her ability to comprehend Surak's teachings, but he judged that

the attempt would occupy her mind. As a Vulcan, the degree of her

understanding was of interest to him. As a Starfleet officer, he was

satisfied to engage her mind and keep her from useless speculation and

draining self-recrimination.


	7. Chapter 7

Kirk found his steps tending towards science lab seven when his shift was over the next day, and the next, and the day after that. It became a matter of course that he would invite Ann Ridley to dinner, and that she would accept. Beta shift's chicken-with-almonds-and- don't-ask was not up to night shift's standard, but there were plenty of other options. The sight of the captain going about his usual practice of charming any female visitor to the ship reassured the crew who saw them in the officer's lounge, and (news being the only thing that could travel faster than warp 10) reassured the rest of the crew as well.

Ann explained her research in great and exhausting detail, which Kirk found restful (if incomprehensible). She was eager for company, and Kirk realised how difficult it had been for her, ordered at a day's notice to leave her work, her friends and home, and set out on a starship where she knew no-one, on a search to find what had happened to a friend gone missing.

"I'm not the adventurous type," she confessed during their third dinner. "I want to hole up in my laboratory where things are safe and the only unpredictability can be seen on graphs rather than out of the window. I'd rather let someone ELSE seek out new life, and I'll just work out what it is when they get home. Particularly since the new life usually seems to be trying to kill you, as far as I can tell from the news."

"We've brought hundreds of worlds into the Federation peacefully!" Kirk protested. "That may not make the news, but if you look at the lists of application for Federation membership..."

"It grows every year, I know." Ann said. "And I know you do things like disaster relief, and medical help, and missions like this one... but this mission proves my point, I think. Joseph wanted to work out on the edge, and look where it got him: Frozen to death less than 30 million miles from the Neutral Zone." And look where it got you, her eyes said. "Not for me, thanks. I'm a coward."

"It's hardly cowardice to-" Kirk started quickly, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"You don't need to reassure me." Ann said. "I'm not fishing for compliments, and I don't need you to tell me what a brave little woman I really am, Jim. The thought of physical danger terrifies me. I'm not proud of that, but I'm not ashamed of it, either." Her gaze was challenging. "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't been ordered, and I want nothing more than to go home."

"I'm sorry we can't oblige you." Kirk said, and then thought how that sounded. "I mean, for your sake, I'm sorry. For my own, of course, I'm delighted that - um - I mean -"

"Thank you." Ann said serenely, rescuing him, and smiled across the table.

Kirk smiled back, slightly nonplussed by her cool assurance. Then a hint of mischief lightened her expression. "And, I should tell you, if it weren't for the circumstances and the location, I'd be delighted to be aboard your ship."

Kirk wondered if he'd imagined the slight emphasis on 'your'. Ann's expression gave him little help. Your move, he imagined her thinking. She really was a fascinating woman, a galaxy class mind and self- confidence to match, all wrapped up in one shapely little parcel.

He cleared his throat.

"Have I shown you the observation deck yet?" he asked.

She grinned broadly. "I was wondering when you'd ask."

* * *

It took Grenwood five days to die.

It is merciful, Spock thought on the second day, that he is scarcely conscious. Then it occurred to him that this might be merciful for Lieutenant Larssen and himself, but not necessarily for Grenwood. Spock considered the possibility that the discomfort the Ensign's turbulent emotions caused him had affected his judgement of the situation, and he had made an assumption about what was best for the Ensign based on what was best for him, Spock. He reached the conclusion that he had done so, and made a mental note to address the matter in his mediations that evening.

Larssen sat quietly most of the time, soothing Grenwood when he woke and otherwise appearing lost in thought. She moved around the tent occasionally, exercising her muscles as far as possible in the limited space. Spock was curious as to her progress with Surak's admonition, but it would have been a gross violation of privacy on Vulcan to enquire, and so he remained silent.

His silence was disconcerting to Larssen. She had plenty of experience serving with members of species whose patterns of social interaction differed wildly from human habits, and would never have been eligible for an exploration posting if her psyche results in the academy had shown the slightest discomfort with the different, the alien. Yet Commander Spock's habit of speaking only when there was something essential to say began to wear on her. Larssen pushed the feeling away, telling herself that it was foolish and irrational, and then stopped. If fear was a lematya in her bed, perhaps this discomfort was something similar? A lematya cub?

"Sir?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Do lematya have cubs?"

'The correct term for lematya young is lematyan."

"Thank you, sir." she said, and returned her attention to the consideration of the lematyan that was her discomfort with Spock. She was unaware that Spock's speculative gaze rested on her back for several minutes longer. She chased that lematyan for the next day and night, following it relentlessly down many different tracks of thought: other Vulcans, full Vulcans, she had known and served with; other non-humans she had known in the past; the circumstances they were in and the effect they had on her emotions; First Officer Spock himself, and her time on the Enterprise. When the lematyan split suddenly into several different animals and each grew to full size, she took a shaken breath, and became aware that she was cold, and stiff, and that it was morning.

She looked up, and met Commander Spock's eyes unexpectedly. He had heard her gasp, and felt her sudden surge of unease, nearly as strongly as Ensign Grenwood's delirium, which was made palpable to him by the absence of the moderating influence of rational thought. To Spock's surprise, Lieutenant Larssen flushed when she saw him regarding her, and looked down at her hands, swallowing hard. The sense of unease vanished, and he deduced she was again as much in command of her emotions as humans ever were.

He did not wish to invade her privacy by inquiring as to the case of her distress, and regretted the embarrassment he had clearly inadvertently caused her. He turned his gaze back to his tricorder, and was once more absorbed in his work when she spoke.

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant."

Larssen hesitated, clearly choosing her words carefully. "Sir, has there ever been a consideration of Surak's teachings as ...dangerous ... to humans?"

She had his full attention now, and he gave her words the thought they deserved. "Some schools of thought have proposed that human culture is insufficiently developed to retain uniqueness when confronted with the powerful influence of Surak's teachings." he said at last. It did not seem to satisfy the Lieutenant.

"But - personally dangerous?"

Spock realised what she was trying to say. "There is always a debate between those who consider too close a scrutiny of emotions as dangerous, and those who consider it beneficial. Such disagreements apply to many philosophical teachings, human, Vulcan, and others. Vulcans, if one can make a statement about an entire species, tend to consider the second proposition valid. However, few Vulcans would be arrogant enough to assume that what applies to their species also applies to others. The differences between Vulcan physicology and psychology and that of other species make such an supposition invalid."

He recognised Larssen's demeanour as that of a human who wished to confide something. He had no desire to become her confidant, particularly if it were a personal matter, and it would cause her discomfort later to know that he knew of it. Jim Kirk, or Leonard McCoy, had the ability to defuse such a situation, but, Spock reflected, very likely neither of those two would have found themselves in such a position. Was his responsibility to Lieutenant Larssen best met by protecting her from the embarrassment an unconsidered revelation might cause, and the consequent discomfort she might feel in her work in the science section? Or had he incurred and equal or greater responsibility on a personal level by encouraging her in introspection?

Spock chose his words carefully. "I gather that your consideration of Surak's words has caused you some concern."

Larssen shrugged slightly. "I just - I mean ..." She stopped, then took her courage in both hands and jumped. "Commander, can I speak to you as a teacher and not an officer?"

That damned eyebrow went up so far Larssen thought Commander Spock would cause himself an injury. "Lieutenant, I am not two separate people. If you wish to tell me something that has a bearing on the safety of the Enterprise or her crew, or your performance of your duties, I cannot pretend I have not heard it."

She seemed, having decided to speak, to have no more doubts, and her voice was quiet and calm when she spoke. "Perhaps you are the better judge of that than me, sir. But - I was considering Surak's words, as you recommended." Spock reflected to himself that in a similar situation in the future he would recommend chess or possibly solitaire. "I was examining my emotions, recognising them, and ... well, sir, it's just that I don't think I like myself very much."

Larssen hoped he would not press her on that. If he did, she would answer honestly, but she did not particularly wish to say Sir, I was considering why I don't like it that you don't chit chat, and I discovered that I only like non-humans who behave in recognisably stereotypical ways. I've discovered that I'm somewhat bigoted, and that the fact that you are more flexible and less remote than other Vulcans I have known makes me resent your difference from humans even more. Furthermore, although I know that Bob's distress causes you discomfort and that, logically, I am the proper person to care for him, I hate it, and I'm blaming you for it because you haven't demonstrated the concern for him or for me that I would expect from a human. And I'm ashamed of myself. Is this what Surak wanted me to know? No, she did not wish to say any of that. She realised Spock was speaking to her, and snapped her attention to his words.

" - required that you like yourself." he was saying. "Only that you know yourself. If all the emotions people experienced were creditable and led to creditable actions, mastering them would not be required. When Vulcan children are trained in the disciplines of Surak, they are not reprimanded for experiencing irrational emotions. They are reminded that this is not shameful. It would be shameful to be aware of such reactions and to do nothing to master them; or to refuse to admit them and remain prey to them. Would you hear what Surak wrote on this mastery, or would it disturb you further?"

"I think it might disturb me further, sir, but I'd like to hear anyway." Larssen said matter-of-factly.

"Cast out fear. Cast out hate and rage. Cast out greed and envy." Spock's harsh voice was curiously resonant in the confined space. "Cast out these emotions by using reason to accept them, and then to move past them. Learn reason above all. Learn clear thought: learn to know what is from what seems to be, or what you wish to be. This is the key to everything: the reality of truth, the truth of reality. What is will set you free."

"There is a human saying, 'The truth will set you free.'" Larssen said.

"I suspect it refers to a different kind of freedom." Spock said.

"I'll take any kind I can get, sir." she said soberly. "Any kind at all."


	8. Chapter 8

When Kirk stopped by lab seven at the end of the day he was surprised not to see Ann there.

"She went to sickbay, sir." Ensign Louis told him, and hurried to add:  
"She's fine, she wanted the Doctor's opinion on some tests she ran."

Kirk nodded in response, and stood for a moment indecisive in the corridor. He felt a sharp sense of disappointment at the thought of missing his now regular dinner with Ann, but at the same time he could not go in to sickbay. He had not been near McCoy since the doctor's outburst on the bridge, and he wasn't going to start by giving the doctor a target for more jibes in his friendship with Ann.

Frowning, he went to the Officer's Lounge on his own, and was half way through an unsatisfactory vindaloo when a light voice said:

"Is this chair taken?"

"Ann!"

"I thought I'd been stood up." she said, slipping into the seat.

"Your staff told me you were consulting with Dr McCoy."

"They were absolutely right, so I was. Is this some obscure rule of Starfleet etiquette that I don't know about? Ship's captain may not eat dinner with someone who has had a conversation with ship's chief medical officer?" Ann's green eyes were shrewd, even if her tone was gently mocking. "When I told the good doctor I was expecting you he couldn't get me out of his office fast enough. Aren't you two supposed to be friends?"

"We had a difference of opinion." Kirk said guardedly.

"About what?"

"About who's in charge of the ship!" It came out slightly louder than he'd expected, and the heads of nearby crew started to turn on instinct, until their self-preservation cut in and they fixed their respective gazes on the food before them.

"I presume you won." Ann said with a lack of interest that nettled Kirk.

"Well, last time I looked, I was still sitting in the captain's chair for most of alpha shift."

"If you won, why are you so unhappy about it?"

Game, set and match, Kirk thought ruefully.

"Dr McCoy is less than his usual cheerful self, as well." Ann went on.  
The idea of anyone describing Bones as cheerful made Kirk smile in spite of himself. "Are you two going to carry on behaving like children, or make it up?"

"He shouldn't have -" Kirk started, and then heard himself and stopped. "Ah, I mean-" He stopped again, and his natural good-humour asserted itself. "Am I really that easy to read?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she countered.

"No, I don't think I do." He was smiling broadly now. "It might damage my already fragile self-esteem." Ann guffawed, a loud indecorous noise that was quite at odds with her dainty appearance.  
Kirk went on: "Do you make it a habit to provide free counselling for the captains of ALL the starships you travel on?"

"Only the ones I'm attracted to." she said mischievously.

"And, ah, do you make it a habit -"

"You don't want me to answer that, either." Then her voice softened.  
"No, Jim, I don't make a habit of it. I don't normally rush things like this, either. But - I told you, I'm scared. I know this is all in a day's work for you and your people, but it isn't for me. I can't help feeling like we haven't got much time, and I - I want to-" Her eyes filled with tears. "I want to be alive. You make me feel alive."

Kirk hesitated, and then reached across the table to take her hand.  
"You're clearly not a coward in everything." he joked, but his eyes were serious.

"No." she said quietly. "I'm a lot more scared of dying than I am of embarrassement." Then she slipped her hand from his. "Sort things out with Dr McCoy first, Jim." Her grin was a good attempt to cover her nervousness. "I want all your attention, not part of it."

"Bones." Kirk waited at the door of McCoy's office, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. He would usually have gone straight to the chair opposite the doctor and dropped in to it; but McCoy would usually have looked up with a smile, and not kept his eyes fixed on his paperwork.

"Can I help you, captain?" McCoy asked sarcastically.

"Can I come in?"

"You're the captain, captain, you can do any damn thing you please!"

Kirk remained where he was. "Bones..." he said again, tiredly.

McCoy looked at him angrily for a moment, but even his offended dignity could not keep him from noticing the weary slump to his friend's shoulders, the marks of sleeplessness on his face. He dropped his gaze to his terminal screen again. "Come in." he muttered,  
and heard the chair legs scrape on the floor and Kirk's sigh as he sat. McCoy gritted his teeth, but it had to be done. "I'll say sorry if you will." he said, without looking up.

"Sorry, Bones." Kirk offered, and McCoy glanced up to see Kirk sprawled in the chair with his usual untidy grace. The captain's gaze was level, slightly amused, sincere.

"Sorry, Jim." he said at last, and immediately felt better. He turned off the terminal where he had been reviewing the crew's psyche evaluations, and reflected that his own score would be markedly better now than five minutes ago. Psychologist, shrink thyself, he thought wryly.

"Do we shake hands and make up?" Kirk asked, smiling.

"I have a better idea." McCoy turned to the liquor cabinet. "Let's shake hands with this nice rye whiskey I've been saving instead." He glanced sharply at the shadows beneath Kirk's eyes. "That's a prescription, Jim."

Kirk shrugged. "Saves me from having to make it an order." He accepted the glass McCoy offered, and raised it in a toast. "To absent friends." he said quietly.

McCoy cleared his throat. "You know, Jim, when you were missing for all that time on the Tholian mission, Spock didn't sleep for more than forty days working out a way to get you back."

Kirk frowned. "I haven't given up on them, if you're back to that."

"No, I'm not, and just listen for a change. Spock worked himself nearly into the ground getting you back safely, but he didn't fret about it."

The thought of Spock fretting brought a glint of amusement to Kirk's eyes. "Vulcans tend not to." he pointed out.

"He's more than a Vulcan, and you know it. And I suspect Vulcans are more than we think they are, too. What I'm getting at is this. Spock did his end of the job and let you get on with doing yours. Right now, what I see sitting in front of me is someone agitating himself over his own job and Spock's as well."

When Kirk said nothing, McCoy went on: "Trust him to get on with his end of this, Jim. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

"That is not," Kirk said, " standard operating procedure for Starfleet."

"Maybe it should be."

"Huh."

McCoy poured another drink. With any luck, two drinks would put the captain to sleep as effectively as any sedative in his current state.  
"I was talking to Christine about this the other day." he said conversationally. "She's eating her heart out as well."

Neither man needed to mention Nurse Chapel's hopeless love for Spock to share a complete understanding of just why she was eating her heart out.

"I'm noticing this general pattern of reaction, and I seem to be the only one immune." McCoy went on. "And I don't even LIKE Spock."

Kirk didn't call him on the lie. "What pattern?"

"You all think he's the hottest thing since dilithium." McCoy said sourly. "And not a one of you is willing to trust him out of your sight."

"I trust Spock," Kirk protested. "I'd just - I'd feel a lot better if the rest of the landing party were Vulcans, too."

"So you think human crew are less competent?"

"You know I don't. I think - Spock would - I mean -"

"You mean," McCoy said, regretting the necessity, "you think he's a fine officer but you don't trust him with command."

"I trust him with command." Kirk said. "I'd rather it was over tried and tested crew."

"Then you don't trust him."

"Remember Murasake 312." A landing party led by Spock had been trapped on the surface of Taurus II, under attack and out of communications. Two crew members had died, and Spock's refusal to delay repairing the shuttle craft to bury them had caused deep hostility in the remaining crew members.

"I remember."

"They nearly mutinied on him, Bones. He's different to almost every officer that landing party will ever deal with. They'll expect things from him that he can't understand. They'll put demands on him that he can't meet. And then what?"

"He's unemotional, not unperceptive." McCoy pointed out wryly. "And besides which, he may well be different from every other officer any of us will deal with. You're different from any other captain I'll ever deal with. I'm different from every CMO you'll ever deal with.  
We're all of us unique beings, Jim. Spock isn't human, but he's no more or less unique than any of us - you can't be more or less unique.  
I remember when the landing party from Taurus II got back to the ship.  
They might have nearly mutinied down planet, but they didn't forget that Spock saved their lives. Every member of that party gained a new appreciated of Spock's abilities by the end of that mission - and he got them back against impossible odds. Remember that, when you're tossing and turning at night and wondering how he's doing down there."

"He won't make the decisions a human officer would." Kirk persisted.  
"Or not in the same way."

"He'll make his own damn decisions! And they'll have as much chance of being right or wrong as any human, any Vulcan, any Lemurian! Don't be a bigot, Jim."

It was a harsh word, and Kirk drew breath to protest, then let it out in a sigh. "You think I'm not giving him enough credit because he's not like me?"

"That's exactly what I think. I think half this ship is doing the same. And you know what REALLY annoys me about it?"

"What?"

"I feel I have to defend the over-precise, under-emotional genetically engineered threat to civilization as we know it." McCoy growled, and Kirk laughed more loudly than he had for some time.


	9. Chapter 9

The three tone whistle of the comm. unit woke Kirk from the most restful sleep he'd had since Iyen's attempts at weather control had failed. He reached for the acknowledgement switch, and was momentarily disconcerted when he couldn't find it. A sleepy murmur beside him reminded him why: he was not in his own quarters.

He slipped his arm from beneath Ann's head and got out of bed.  
"Computer." he said softly, "Lights at minimum."

A soft glow illuminated the room and he found his way to the comm.  
switch. "This is the captain." he said, and then belatedly wondered if perhaps he should have let Ann answer her own calls.

At the other end, however, Uhura sounded unsurprised as she said:  
"Coded transmission from Admiral Bantry, sir."

"I'll take it in my quarters." Kirk said. "Give me five minutes."

"Yes, sir." Uhura was never less than professional, but at times like this Kirk really wished there was a two-way vid screen attached to standard comm. units. He would have bet his last credit she was grinning.

"What is it?" Ann was sitting up, her hair flattened on one side by the pillow.

"Starfleet calling. I have to take it in my quarters." He was dressing as he spoke.

"Will you come back?" For a second Kirk heard only the pout of every lover left alone in bed, and then he saw the vivid fear in her face.  
Ann knew what a Starfleet communication could mean.

"If I can." he said.

Ann nodded, pleating and unpleating the edge of the sheet nervously.  
"All right." she said, her voice small, and then with a shaky grin:  
"All in a day's work, right?"

Kirk sat down beside her on the bed, despite the shortness of time,  
and put his arms around her. "I've kept this ship and this crew safe for three years." he said. "I'll keep her safe yet. Don't worry,  
Ann."

"You've got two minutes left," she said after a while. "Better take that call."

He swore, and ran.

Bantry's face was sombre, his gills a muted grey. "Captain Kirk,  
sensor buoys report a major incursion from the neutral zone. Five Romulan ships have cross the border into Federation space. The Enterprise is the only ship in position to intercept before they reach Starbase 43. Your orders are to intercept the Romulans and either destroy them or see that they return to their own space."

"Understood, Admiral." Kirk said evenly.

"Kirk, I'm sorry. I know your people are still missing. Ser Etta will be given high priority for a flyby for all ships passing the sector. You'll return to the system as soon as this mission permits."

Kirk did not point out how few ships passed the sector, or how unlikely it was that the landing party could survive until the next one was due. Nor did he point out the odds of the Enterprise surviving a showdown with five Romulan ships, and even if she did, the odds against no new crisis arising. He simply nodded to the Dulurian,  
and ended the conversation.

It was a long moment, however, before he activated the comm again.

"Sulu." he said softly. "Sensor logs of a five ship incursion from the neutral zone are on their way to your station. Plot an intercept course at maximum warp and engage. I'll be on the bridge shortly."

"Aye, sir."

Another code, the one activating allcall transmission to the entire ship.

"This is Captain Kirk." he said, and his voice was confident and clear. "We have been ordered to intercept and repel a five ship incursion of Romulans who have crossed over from the neutral zone.  
When we've seen our Romulan friends out of the area, we'll return to Ser Etta and collect our missing people. I'm sure you'd all like to do that as soon as possible, so I'm equally sure you'll be eager to deal with the Romulans with all possible speed and dispatch. You can be confident I share that desire. Kirk out."

In Engineering, Scotty shook his head briefly, then turned to the his people. "Ye heard the captain!" he roared. "We'll be backside deep in Romulans before ye know it, so I want those engines PURRING, d'ye hear me!"

On the bridge, Chekov ran all weapons systems up to readiness while Sulu, his face at its imperturbable best, ran a level two diagnostic on the manual controls.

In her guest quarters, Professor Ann Ridley put her hands over her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to stop shaking.

In sickbay, McCoy listened with a sinking heart. He knew all too well how unlikely it was that the Enterprise would avoid further immediate orders if they survived the fight with the Romulans, and orders after that, and after that. There were too many crises in the Federation to let the Starfleet flagship hang about forever, waiting on six crew members, and each crisis would take them further and further away from Ser Etta.

"Damnit." he said crossly. Christine Chapel was in the door of his office, tears standing in her eyes. "Don't cry, Christine, we'll be back here in no time and that pointy-eared menace will be threatening my sanity again."

"Of course." she said in a tone that let him know he hadn't fooled her one iota, and he turned away before she could see the moisture in his own eyes.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Shh, Bob, shhh." Larssen looked up at Spock, her eyes bright with tears. Grenwood had been delirious for most of the day and was growing steadily weaker. "Shhh, Bob, it's all right, it's all right." she said for the thousandth time, stroking his hair. She fought down the impulse to run out of the shelter by recognising it for what it was,  
her own fear of watching Bob die. She fought down the impulse to hit Commander Spock across the face by recognising it as an irrational expectation for him to behave in a human manner. She did not think she could ever fight down the guilt that ate at her as she once again reassured Grenwood that he had not failed, no, he had tried hard and done his best and they were proud of him, he had not failed...

Bad enough that he's dying, she thought brutally. To die in guilt,  
and fear, and misery...

She turned aside for a moment, fighting for composure. "Sir," she said softly to Spock, "will you tell him he's not to blame? Please? I know - I know it's painful for you to be near him when he's - like this - but -" She realised to her horror that she was crying, and wiped her face hurriedly. When she looked up, Spock had taken her place at Grenwood's side, although he did not touch the young man.

"Ensign," he said, in a tone of authority Larssen could not hope to match, "you have nothing to reproach yourself for. You have performed your duties to the limits of your abilities under difficult circumstances and my mission log reflects this fact."

To Larssen's relief, his words calmed Grenwood. "I couldn't - I couldn't - " he murmured brokenly.

"You did all you could." Spock assured him. "What you could not do is beyond your power to alter."

When Grenwood did not speak again, Spock rose and retreated to the other side of the shelter. Larssen knelt beside Grenwood, and saw that his eyes were open and he seemed to recognise her.

"Bob?" she said softly.

"Cory -" he said. "I'm not - not cold anymore. But I'm scared."

She lay down beside him and slipped one arm beneath his head. "It's all right." she told him. "It's all right, it's all right, it's all right ..." she held him and told him until she realised she was talking to herself.

Spock had felt Grenwood's death as it happened and he watched silently as Larssen sat up and methodically began to remove the ensign's jacket and gloves before taking a body bag from the medpack. Her movements jerky, her face set, she laid the bag out. Spock rose to his feet and went to help her lift Grenwood's body onto the bag, and she nodded stiffly in acknowledgement but did not speak as she sealed the bag.

"With the locator in the bag, the retrieval team can take him back to the ship when they collect the deceased from the shuttle crash." she said flatly.

Spock could not determine her motivation for giving him information he already had, and said nothing. "We should move him outside immediately," Larssen went on, in that same cold tone, "to minimise decomposition."

"No significant decomposition will occur overnight in this temperature." Spock told her. Larssen shook her head sharply.

"We should move him outside." she repeated, and Spock thought that perhaps she was uncomfortable with the corpse still in the shelter.

"As you say," he agreed politely, and bent to lift one end of the bag as Larssen lifted the other.

Larssen imagined she could hear Grenwood's voice, Not out in the cold,  
Cory, don't put me out in the cold... and she closed her mind to everything except the task at hand. With the body bag laid outside the shelter, she evaluated Grenwood's jacket and gloves, the gloves too big and clumsy for her, the jacket too small for Spock.

"Sir," she said, and laid the gloves beside him.

Not in the cold, Cory, please...

Pulling Grenwood's jacket on, she checked the shelter for anything else that needed to be done.

"Will we move on in the morning, sir?" She wanted to run outside and pull Grenwood back in, open the bag and cling to the corpse,  
screaming. She held still. Don't put me out in the cold, Cory...

"If you feel able, Lieutenant."

Spock had long ago noted that strong emotions could make humans behave in unusual ways, but he sensed no such uncontrollable emotion from Larssen. Indeed, he sensed nothing at all, not even the vague static most psychically immature beings gave off as their minds moved busily from thought to thought. Yet the woman who stood before him could have been a stranger.

"I'll be able, sir." she told him, and turned to the task of preparing to move. When she had finished she looked around and nodded once, then went to the corner furthest from Spock and lay down, her back to him.

"Lieutenant," he said formally, "I grieve with you."

"Go to hell, sir." she said with vicious precision. Not in the cold,  
Cory, not out in the cold ... She could only maintain her self control if she held her mind very still, if she focused down very hard and did not think. She knew that Commander Spock had just used a Vulcan expression of condolence, and in his own way meant exactly what he said. Her response was unjust, offensive, uncalled for. I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care...

Not in the cold, Cory, please, Cory, I'm so cold...

I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care

I don't care I don't care...

Spock heard her stifled sobbing, muffled on her sleeve. He closed his eyes, and sat silent in the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

"Nothing yet, sir."

The intercept course had not brought them in sensor range of the Romulan ships. Kirk frowned at the starmap in front of him. If the flotilla had continued on their course for Starbase 43, they should be right underfoot about now. Instead - nothing.

"Mr Sulu, lay in a course for the point the Romulans crossed the border. Mr Iyen, sensor scans to detect subspace emissions. They've obviously gone somewhere that Starfleet hadn't considered."

"Now there's a surprise" muttered Chekov under his breath. "With any luck they've gone straight back over the border."

"That would be a surprise." said Sulu. "Course laid in, Captain."

"Proceed at warp five. No point overrunning their trail."

"Aye, sir."

The Enterprise turned to the new course, and Iyen's fingers flickered over Spock's console. No, Kirk reminded himself. Iyen's console. He would be science officer until Spock returned, or until Starfleet assigned a new officer to the Enterprise.

He forced himself to face that prospect with something approaching equanimity, despite the sudden tightness in his throat. From the way the rest of the bridge crew averted their eyes from the Science station, he guessed that they too were aware that Spock might never stand there again, might have been condemned to a slow death by cold on Ser Etta Five, thinking - no, knowing - that his captain had abandoned him ...

Enough! he commanded himself, and forced himself to turn to Iyen.

"Acting Science Officer," he said formally, reminding the bridge crew both that they had to deal with Spock's absence and that it was not yet to be treated as permanent, "any indication of the Romulans'  
emissions?"

"Not as yet sir." he said evenly, though his hands were shaking and his antenna were furled with agitation.

"Keep us informed." Kirk told him.

There was silence for a while, broken only by small sounds of bridge crew going about their necessary duties. Kirk stared at the view screen. He would need all his ingenuity and all his crew's expertise to defeat five Romulan ships, and he both dreaded and longed for the encounter. Dreaded it, for the possibility of defeat, and longed to have it resolved so the Enterprise could return to the Ser Etta system. When the turbolift doors hissed open he started, and realised that hours had passed.

"Since we're not shooting this very second," McCoy said from behind him, "I figured I had a few minutes to abandon my post and come second guess you all."

"Kibitzing is as rude on the bridge as it is in chess, Bones." Kirk said absently, an old joke between them that reminded him sharply of the circumstances of the doctor's 'kibitzing': evenings spent with Spock and McCoy and a chess board, the talk turning from casual to serious and back again...

"Can I have a moment, Jim?" McCoy asked casually, so casually that Kirk turned and gave the doctor his full attention, then rose to his feet.

"I'll be in my ready room." he said. "Mr Sulu, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

The ready room doors shut them off from the bridge and Kirk leaned against his desk for a moment before turning back to face McCoy.

"Come to scold me, Bones?"

"Only in moderation." McCoy said. "Get your mind on business, Jim."

"Reading my mind, now?"

"I don't need to. I can feel the pall of gloom all the way down to sick bay. You did a good enough job on the comm but you're slipping.  
Captain."

"You only call me that when you're angry with me, Bones. I had no choice but to leave them-"

"I only call you captain when you need to be reminded of it." McCoy corrected him. "I might be an insubordinate medico, but I'm responsible for the psychological well-being and the morale of the crew as well as their physical health. Right now, you have a ship full of people dwelling on the fact that their crew mates are stranded on a planet we're rapidly rushing away from and you're about to go into a pretty tense situation. I think you might want to do something about that as a priority and stop mourning."

"I'm not mourning!" Kirk's fists clenched. "He isn't - they aren't dead, god damn you, not yet."

"Well, that's a start." McCoy observed. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do?" As quickly as it had flared, Kirk's temper subsided,  
leaving him drained and numb. "There's nothing I can do except wait to find the Romulans."

"You can a: do your best to make sure this ship is in the best shape possible to take on the Romulans, which means doing a somewhat better job of inspiring your crew that you are at present. You can also, b:  
find the Romulans faster than you are now."

"And how do I do that?" Kirk asked bitterly.

"How should I know? I'm a doctor." McCoy said very quietly, weighing his words. "Not a starship captain. Captain." And he turned, and went back through the bridge to the turbolift, and down to sickbay,  
relieving his own feelings by roundly cursing everyone involved in this mess from Spock to Kirk to the Romulans to Starfleet to God Almighty.

As he entered sickbay, he heard the two tone chime of an allcall communications.

"This is your captain speaking." said Kirk. "There are one or two things I want to remind you of."

He went on, but McCoy didn't need to listen to know it would be a very stirring speech. He smiled to himself, and whispered to the air:

"I've done my part. Jim's doing his. Pull yourself together and do yours, you copper-blooded logician!"

* * *

They travelled, for the most part, in silence. It was not Spock's nature to fill the air with idle chatter, and Lieutenant Larssen's usual fund of miscellaneous conversation seemed to have run empty.  
She pulled her side of the travois silently, eyes fixed on the ground before her, with more strength than Spock had thought she possessed.  
He usually found human insistence on unnecessary and frequently redundant talk a source of irritation, but Larssen's Vulcan-like silences and taciturn remarks on essential topics were disturbing.  
After all, she was not Vulcan. He wondered if this was grief, or if she sought to behave in a Vulcan manner as a consequence of her interest in Surak's teachings. At one rest break, he said to her:

"Lieutenant, Surak originated the concept of infinite diversity in infinite combination. He would not approve of a student who rejected their own uniqueness."

Larssen looked at him as if he spoken an incomprehensible language over an inconceivable distance. "Yes, sir," she said politely,  
leaving Spock with the distinct impression he had just been humoured.  
If he had been the full telepath many believed Vulcans to be, he would have been more disturbed still.

Larssen trudged through the snow, using reason to examine her emotions. She used reason to deconstruct her anger with Commander Spock, and congratulated herself on rationality when she no longer blamed him for not being human or for Grenwood's death. After another day or so of searching self-examination and exquisite logic, she was able to exonerate the Klingons (despite the fact that they had precipitated the situation by claiming the Realgar system); the base research team (despite their stupidity in getting killed and drawing the Enterprise to this system in the first place); Captain Kirk and the rest of the Enterprise crew (despite their failure to get the landing party back in good order and reasonable time). Using reason,  
she realised, she could place the blame for Bob's death precisely where it belonged: on herself.

This revelation was a peculiar relief, and she lost her footing with the force of it, falling heavily. A sharp pain in her knee when she tried to rise told her that she had injured her leg fairly badly, but she could not bring herself to feel concern.

"I'll have to brace it, sir." she said to Spock as he knelt beside her.

"Could you pass me the medpack?"

He did so, and she found herself smiling at him. He was on the other side of the wall, after all. He was not guilty. Quickly, her hands more nimble and her head clearer than had been the case for days, she strapped an emergency brace around her knee and levered herself to her feet. The pain was bad, but it was almost as if it were happening to someone else. She felt light, tireless, as if she could skim over the snow for days.

"Okay, sir, good to go." Larssen smiled sweetly at Spock again, and he felt a deep sense of unease.

"You cannot pull the travois, Lieutenant," he said. "I will pull it.  
If you walk directly behind me, you can use the arms of the travois for support, and will not need to break the snow."

"Yes, sir," she said, still smiling. The dawn of reason was a wonderful thing, she thought. She had determined what was, rather than what seemed, as Surak had written, and as he promised it had set her free! No wonder Vulcans were so enamoured of logic!

As Spock pulled the travois forward, she took hold of the straps behind him and added her own strength to his. It did not occur to her to examine her conviction of her own guilt with reason and logic. She knew the truth, now, and had no more need to think. Everything was very clear, and very certain, and the terrible pain in her chest was gone.

She was, as Dr McCoy would have said, right out of orbit and exiting the system fast.

When they had made camp for the night, she took off her trousers and unzipped the leg of her cold suit, revealing a swollen knee. After nearly two months with her clothes on, an indescribable smell was also revealed. Once, Larssen would have been embarrassed by the stench,  
and made a joke to cover her embarrassment; but that was before reason was revealed to her, and now she remained unmoved.

The tricorder indicated a sprain, and when she fitted a brace and tried to fasten the cold suit over it the suit would not stretch to close. Cheerfully, she put the brace over the suit leg and tightened it, ignoring the way the suit fastenings were driven into her skin,  
and then pulled on her trousers.

"Should be no trouble tomorrow, sir," she told Commander Spock. He was regarding her closely, and she gave him a beatific smile to set his mind at rest. "Really, it's not that bad."

'Lieutenant," Spock said cautiously, "Are you sure you are - well?"

"Never better, sir." Larssen said calmly.

Spock doubted that. She seemed as calm and collected as the Lieutenant Larssen he remembered, but the sudden transition from her laconic manner yesterday was not, as far as all his experience was concerned, normal human behaviour. And Lieutenant Larssen, two months or even two weeks ago, would have cursed on taking a fall like the one she had taken today, would have shown signs of pain even if she remained composed. She had always responded calmly to events, but at the moment she was responding with indifference. Now, there was a distance in her gaze Spock mistrusted, but he could not think of anything to do.

As good as her word, Larssen did not let her injury slow their progress much.

She walked behind Spock, rather than beside him, but pulled the travois with a will and a vague smile. They continued to make good time, and even made up some of the time they had lost while Grenwood lay dying. It began to seem possible they would reach the research base in time after all.

The night that Spock's calculations showed they were less than three hundred miles from the base, the fifty-fourth night since they had set out from the site of the shuttle crash, something occurred to Larssen.  
"What if the Enterprise had to leave orbit?" she asked Spock. Her tone was mild, as if the subject were one of academic interest only.

"The possibility had occurred to me." he admitted. "However, in such an eventuality Captain Kirk would leave a relay buoy in orbit, which would be within the range of the communicator, once we have augmented its power supply. That buoy would relay the message."

"How much would it be delayed?"

"By as much as twenty four hours."

Larssen looked at the calculations again. "We won't make it." she said."Not in time. Not at my speed."

She had made no complaint at the gruelling pace he had set, although the toll it took showed in her pallor, in the prominence of her cheekbones and the shadows beneath her eyes. It was difficult to tell beneath the bulky clothes, but Spock judged she had lost a great deal of weight in the last week or so.

"We may well reach the base five days from now. If the Enterprise is still in orbit, that will be time enough."

"It seems a shame," she said slowly, "to have come this far, at such a cost, and too miss by one day because I sprained my knee." Her gaze fixed on something beyond the walls of the shelter, she rose to her feet with an eerie grace. "I don't think that's a chance we can take.  
You'll reach the base in four days if you only take necessary supplies," she continued, unzipping the front of her jacket and letting it hang open. "and ditch the travois. I suggest taking the medpack: the extra burden will be worth it if you need the stimulants in the last stages." She began to walk dreamily towards the door of the shelter. It was very clear to her now.

Come out in the snow, Cory. It isn't cold. Come out in the snow.

"Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen!"

Larssen turned to face Spock one last time, her hand on the door of the shelter. She was surprised, in a distant kind of way, to see him on his feet, coming towards her. "What makes you think," he asked coolly, "my answer is different tonight than it was the last time you asked this question?"

"Because," she said as if speaking to a child, "this time it's my question. I'm just going outside. I may be some time." Laughter bubbled up within her.

"If it is your desire," he said very steadily, "that I waste valuable time searching for you which would more profitably be used in travelling, you are lacking in respect for the urgency of this mission and for Ensign Grenwood."

"Then don't search." she said sensibly. The door was open now. Spock knew he could easily catch and subdue her, but after that his options seemed limited to binding her hand and foot or remaining awake and on watch for the remainder of the journey. He moved unobtrusively sideways, in position for the Vulcan nerve pinch should it prove necessary.

"I will not collude with you in this act." he said quietly. "If you go outside, I will bring you back. If necessary, I will place you in restraints. You may think you have the right to take your own life,  
but if I allow you to do so I will be responsible for your death, and you have no right to make me so. Close the door."

Come on, Cory. I'm lonely.

Larssen remained motionless and he said again, "Close the door,  
Lieutenant. That is an order."

She blinked, and as if her vision had cleared saw Commander Spock standing beside her, his gaze intent on her face. I grieve with you,  
he had said, and: I will not collude with you in this act. Set beside his resolve, his rock-solid integrity, her belief that she had penetrated the heart of Vulcan logic and found in it a reprieve from the business of living was revealed as self-delusion. She had not mastered her emotions or dealt with her circumstances: she had only run away.

Larssen swayed, and Spock thought she would bolt for the blizzard, and tensed. Then she took a small, stumbling step back into the tent and stopped, as if dazed. He reached past her and fastened the door again, not taking his eyes from her as she took another step away from the entrance, then a third, and sat down suddenly on the floor.

"One of your suggestions is sound, Lieutenant. Tomorrow we will abandon the travois and take only the supplies necessary for five days travel. I concur with you that the medpack should be considered essential equipment, for the reasons you stated."

Her eyes closed, Larssen nodded mutely. Her logic seemed to have gone astray.

She no longer felt light, untiring, impervious to pain. Her leg ached and she was gut-wrenchingly weary, and the pain in her chest was back.  
In dumb misery she watched Commander Spock separate the supplies they would need from those they would not, and set about making two packs of what they would take in morning, with room in one for the survival shelter. He makes decisions, she thought, and accepts the consequences, and goes on. Like an officer is supposed to. She did not think she could ever get up from where she sat, but she knew she would, knew she would reach the base in time or die trying, as Spock would: on her feet, facing forward, not lying down in despair.

"I'm sorry, sir." she said in a small voice, unable to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Spock considered her for a moment, and she braced herself for a reprimand, but all he said was:

"I can think of more convenient times for you to have discovered your imagination, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." she whispered, uncomprehending.

"Rest." he said. "We must cover a great deal of distance tomorrow."

Silently, she lay down where she was and closed her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

"Captain! Romulans in sensor range, sir!"

Iyen's voice was sharp with excitement, but not with nerves. Kirk's instincts that the Romulans were following a circuitous path to Starbase 41, not 43, had paid off when they picked up an emissions trail. Their more powerful warp drive had eaten up the distance between them, while Kirk, Chekov and Sulu put their heads together over manoeuvres. The crew were charged with energy and eager for battle.

"Red Alert. Shields up" said Kirk. "Tactical on screen."

The display showed the Romulans streaking through space in a staggered formation.

"Open a hailing frequency." Kirk said. "Romulan vessels, this is Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. You are in violation of the Federation Romulan treaty. You are hereby instructed to return to the Neutral Zone immediately."

He held his breath while they waited for a response. Come on, he willed the Romulan commander, see sense. Do the right thing. Let us all get out of here ASAP, I have other things to do. He had stopped trying to ignore his anxiety over Spock after McCoy had warned him about the crew's morale. Instead, he fed it, focussed it, added his anger to it and used the mix to fuel his concentration and determination. Around him, he felt the bridge crew in the same state of hyper alert resolution.

"They're returning our hail, captain." Uhura said.

"Onscreen." The tactical display vanished, visible now on Kirk's armrest display.

The Romulan commander glared at Kirk. "We are in pursuit of a fugitive ship." he said coldly. "That ship is crewed by traitors to Romulus. We insist that you do not interfere."

As if to confirm his words, the second lead ship fired on the leading Romulan vessel, which twisted and turned in evasive manoeuvres. Kirk leaned forward.

"Romulan captain," he said charmingly. "I understand your situation.  
Please understand mine. You are in violation of the Federation-  
Romulan treaty and I must insist you return to Romulan space immediately. Your fugitive ship will be dealt with by the Federation."

"Pah! Your Federation is notoriously weak-minded and ruled by soft emotions. If the Treynis applies for asylum you will let them off with no punishment!"

Kirk muted the sound with a touch, said "Confirm name of lead ship"  
without moving his lips and returned sound to the communication.  
"Romulan commander," he said again, at his most winsome, "Do you have a name?"

"Sub Centurion Kaylis." the Romulan admitted reluctantly. Behind Kirk, Iyen said sotto voice, "Confirmed, captain."

"Splendid." Kirk said expansively. "Now I know whose name to enter in my mission log when I record that the Enterprise encountered five Romulan ships in Federation space in violation of the treaty, and after giving them three warnings to return to their own space," his voice hardened "destroyed them all." He leaned forward in his seat.  
"Sub Centurion Kaylis, this is my third and final warning. I have urgent business elsewhere and I do not have time to bandy words with you all day, although," and here Kirk smiled with chilling graciousness, "I am sure the experience would be charming. I will see you in Romulan space or I will see you in hell and you have precisely five seconds to decide which. Am I understood?"

The response came as communications were cut off. "The two last ships are changing course to intercept us, sir!" cried Iyen. "They're attempting to lock on!"

"Evasive," snapped Kirk. "Mr. Chekov, return their fire if fired upon. Mr Sulu, get us in between the Treynis and her lead pursuer."

"Aye sir." from both and the gravity fluctuated as Sulu sent the Enterprise into a twisting dive that took them beneath the closest ships - or above them, Kirk supposed, for direction in space was largely a matter of how you looked at it.

"They're firing." Iyen reported. "Aft deflectors holding."

Tactical showed photon torpedoes streaking away from the Enterprise,  
then one side of a Romulan ship shifted colour to red and that ship began to drop away to the edge of the screen. The Enterprise gained on, then passed, the third ship and now only Kaylis' ship and the fugitive were in front of them.

"Mr Sulu," Kirk said, "I want you to drop us in front of our friend Kaylis, directly in his course. I also want you to do this with the Enterprise facing him."

"Aye sir." said Sulu, as if flipping a starship end over end in warp while flying a precision course and evading enemy fire was all in a day's work.

"Then I want you to reverse, matching Kaylis' speed."

"Aye sir." Sulu could be as unflappable as Spock when it came to flying.

"Match his course changes - he'll try to get around us - but make sure you reduce speed each time. Let him get nice and close."

"Aye, sir." Not quite so calm this time. Kirk could tell that Sulu had his eyebrows raised.

"And prepare for my command to all stop."

"Aye - sir."

Not a one of his crew made a sound, not even the relatively inexperienced Iyen, but Kirk felt them thinking questions at him. He smiled, and his voice was easy, even lazy, as he said, at Sulu but to all of them:

"They'll call this the Sulu Manoeuvre and they'll forbid anyone from ever doing it again, I guarantee. But we'll do it today, and we'll call it the Ser Etta Manoeuvre."

"Aye, sir." said Sulu, and "Aye, sir." several others murmured. All had their heads bent over their stations except Uhura, who was watching tactical. She looked across at Captain Kirk, her face properly sober but her eyes dancing.

"Captain, I wish to report that the ship's betting board is offering odds on the outcome."

Not now, Uhura, he thought, not wanting Sulu to hear the odds against his success, but she continued brightly.

"Five to One on all Romulan ships destroyed in two minutes. Two to one on all Romulan ships destroyed in three minutes. Six to one on all Romulan ships destroyed in four minutes." She stopped as laughter rippled through the bridge, even Sulu joining in despite the sweat shining on his face. As it died down she continued, "In addition,  
there are favourable odds on offer for those wishing to bet on the order the ships will be destroyed in, as well as the precise times of their destruction. An announcement has been made that due to the reputations of the officers at Helm and Weapons, payouts will not be made on a "or nearest" basis, but only for exact times to four decimal places. Moira regrets that bets cannot be accepted from Officers Hikaru Sulu and Pavel Chekov, although other bridge officers are welcome to wager with the proviso of reduced odds due to insider information."

Kirk smiled. "Ms Uhura, put me down for 20 credits on no ships destroyed and a course change for the neutral zone on the part of the last three ships in fifteen minutes or less."

"Aye sir." she said, and turned to her board as Sulu said: "Two minutes to intercept."

As the whooping red alert siren started, Ann Ridley jumped, knocking her stool over. The science crew around her had started shutting down their experiments, without panic but with a great deal of efficient haste. Ann stood frozen, until one of the Sulamid scientists picked up her stool with one handling tentacle while gently pushing Ann in the direction of the corner with another.

"Regulations require securing of all loose objects." s/he rumbled at Ann. "Includes Professors. Suggest using takehold."

Ann stumbled to the takehold and grabbed it. Her face felt cold and numb, and the sounds of the crew closing lockers and fastening latches seemed very far away. She hugged the takehold with both arms, and tried to keep her teeth from chattering.

* * *

By the end of the second day travelling without the travois, Larssen was certain she was going to die. She no longer welcomed the thought,  
and fought grimly to stay on her feet and keep up with Commander Spock as they struggled on, but it seemed unlikely to her she could survive even another few hours, let alone two or three more days. Spock was studying his calculations, and she could tell he did not like what he saw, but she was too exhausted to ask how far behind schedule they were.

"We must travel one hundred and fifty miles tomorrow," he told her,  
"and the same the day after."

I didn't want to know that, she thought, and closed her eyes. She had no appetite for the ration pack that lay open beside her, but forced herself to eat. It would be irresponsible not to do everything she could, irresponsible to let herself be weaker than she needed to be.

"Not to put to fine a point on it," she said, "and I'm not being self-  
indulgent here, but I'm not sure if I'm physically able. The medical tricorder is not a happy machine."

Her voice was weak, but Spock noticed none of the distant, dreamy quality that had concerned him over the past few weeks.

"The medical tricorder is not, as you say, 'happy', with me either."  
he told her. "Were it not illogical to do so, I would suspect it has suffered from too long an association with Dr McCoy."

Larssen laughed, a mere puff of air. She was lying back against one of the packs and rolled her head to look at him as if the effort of raising it was beyond her. Always thin, he was gaunt now, his hair grown out of its usual neat cut. It hid the tips of his ears, and in the dim light he appeared more human than ever, until one caught the expression in his dark eyes. Larssen found she did not think of him as an unnaturally cold human anymore, or as an inconsistently human Vulcan. He was simply Spock, right down to the core. She felt an odd delight in the knowledge. If she died tomorrow, or the day after, at least she would have known this, and that was something.

"Commander," she said conversationally, but there was speculative mischief in her eyes, "what's the first thing you're going to do when we get back to the Enterprise?"

"Report to the Captain." Spock said calmly.

"No, no. After that. The first thing you choose to do."

"I do not understand." Spock said, regarding her blankly. "That is the first thing I choose to do."

The game, one long familiar to landing parties in difficult situations, was less fun with no-one to play it with, but Larssen struggled on. "Well," she said, "I'm trying to decide between chocolate cake and a bath. I'm sure I'll be able to get permission for either of them."

"A difficult decision." Spock said dryly. "How have you resolved this dilemma?"

"I haven't." she said happily. "That's why I'm asking you."

"Vulcans find water vapour uncomfortable, and I do not eat chocolate."

"I guessed that. I thought you might have a suggestion that transcended both cake and bath."

"I have." he said calmly. "I am going to report to the Captain."

Larssen winced. For a moment there, she had thought he had caught on.  
Misjudged him again, Corrina. And then she opened her eyes incredulously as he continued impassively:

"If this option does not appeal to you, Lieutenant, I suggest that there is no physical barrier to eating chocolate cake while in the bath, if one's dexterity is reasonably good. I will personally insist you receive the necessary allowance from both the quartermaster and the commissary, if that is your desire."

Larssen had a sudden mental image of Spock solemnly eating chocolate cake in a bubble bath, and fought to suppress a fit of the giggles.  
"Oh, it is, Commander, it is." she said archly. "At this point, it's my heart's desire."

He made a note on his PADD, and then looked at her. "Is there a beverage you would prefer with the cake?" he asked in a tone which was simultaneously so like himself and so like the food synthesisers in the mess hall that

Larssen gave a great whoop of laughter and subsided against the pack she was using as a back rest, helpless with giggles. When she recovered herself, Spock observed that she turned to her meal with more appetite, and made a point, in the morning, of asking with utmost seriousness if she had yet decided on the drink that would most complement the cake. Larssen started the trek the next day chuckling loudly enough to be heard through the wind.

She did not keep laughing long. The third time she fell Spock took her pack as well as his own, and she did not protest. He could see from her expression that she had given up any pride or desire to prove herself, and was concentrating now only on the urgent business of staying alive, and on her feet, and moving forward. He thought of slowing his pace to make it easier for her, but dismissed the thought:  
that would remove any chance they had of reaching the research base in time. He would go more slowly when she was no longer able to keep up with him, but not before.

Unexpectedly, she managed far better than he had expected. As darkness closed around them they had covered more than two thirds of the distance they had needed to travel that day, better than Spock had estimated likely. They would still not reach the base for two days,  
but there was the possibility the Enterprise, and the powerful communications relay aboard her, was still in orbit. He stopped, and lowered the packs to the ground.

Weaving on her feet, Lieutenant Larssen shouted through the gale: "Is it far enough, sir?"

Spock thought, for an instant, of lying to her. It was anathema to a Vulcan to lie: it was disrespectful of reality, and thus of the universe, but he wondered if it was what Kirk or McCoy would do in this situation. Larssen had made an extraordinary effort, and it seemed cruel to tell her it had been in vain. To lie, he thought then,  
to keep her in ignorance for one more day, is what one would do to a child too young for understanding. Regardless of what Jim would do, I cannot treat her that way.

He shook his head. "No." he shouted back. "But we can go no farther today."

He meant, You can go no farther, and Larssen knew it.

"Balls!" she yelled at him, and picked up her pack, and then his,  
staggering with the weight. Glaring wildly, she started forwards again, only to be brought up short when he laid hold of one of the packs she carried.

"Dogs copulate with their ancestors in innovatively obscene ways!" she gasped in Romulan, as he took the packs from her. "I won't stop,  
sir!"

"Perhaps not," Spock told her, "but you were going the wrong way." He settled the packs on his shoulders again, and turned in the direction of the base. As she stumbled behind him, hanging on to one of the packs to keep her bearings, he added over his shoulder, "When we have leisure, Lieutenant, I would like to know where you learned such fluently idiomatic Romulan."

Behind him, Larssen made an unidentifiable sound, and made the effort to come level with him. "I didn't know you spoke Romulan, sir!" she shouted.

"It would seem to be information you should have obtained before choosing your expletives of choice." Spock said mildly, and recognised the sound Lieutenant Larssen made again as all that was left of her laugh. "Walk behind me," he instructed, "and let me break the path."

Larssen nodded and dropped back again. "Dead dogs copulate with their ancestors in innovatively obscene ways." he heard her say faintly, and reflected that if it would keep Larssen's spirits up and keep her on her feet, he would listen to Romulan curses all the way to the base.  
Humans, he thought for the thousandth time since his application to Starfleet Academy, were far less predictable than most Vulcans assumed.

She was falling more frequently now, and finding it more difficult to get up. Spock took hold of her arm to assist her to her feet, and was surprised not to be overwhelmed by the misery he had expected her to feel.

"Stinking dead dogs..." she gasped, and stopped. He felt her humour flickering dimly, surrounded by a howling space containing only the mindless determination to continue.

"You can do better than that, Lieutenant." he told her, and felt the flame flicker a little higher. "Stinking dead dogs..."

"Copulating with their ancestors in innovative obscene ways." she finished obediently, and fell in behind him.

"I have every confidence in your abilities." he told her, both meaning and not meaning her linguistic abilities. After a brief pause, he added:

"Although not in your pronunciation."

They trudged on.


	12. Chapter 12

"Within range, sir!"

"Target their generators." Kirk ordered. "Take out the shields."

The Enterprise rocked as the gravity stabilisers failed to deal with the impact of the Romulan's torpedos. Uhura wrapped her feet around the base of her chair and kept sending the same message over and over "Romulan ship Treynis, this is the USS Enterprise. We are empowered under the Federation-Romulan treaty to offer you political asylum. Do you copy? Romulan ship Treynis, this is..."

"Their shields are at 50% sir!"

"Forward deflectors at 80%" Iyen reported. "70%."

The other Romulan ships, aside from the one the Enterprise had already disabled, had caught up with their leader and added their firepower to that of the warbird the Enterprise was targeting.

"More power to the shields, Mr Scott" Kirk said into the intercom.  
"Iyen, I want firepaths for the generators on each of those other ships."

"On their way to tactical now, sir." she said, paused, and added,  
"Port deflectors at 60%."

"On my mark, Mr Sulu. Mr Chekov, hold fire for my order."

"Aye sir."

"Ready, Mr Sulu: and ... mark."

The helmsman overrode the safety cutouts on the piloting computer and brought the Enterprise's nose up, and to the side. The warp field on the starboard side of the starship began to deform as the field generators struggled to make sense of the new information Sulu's manoeuvre was giving them. A warning sounded: Sulu ignored it, using the warpfield to push the Enterprise closer, broadside on, to the Romulans. Kirk imagined he felt the ship shuddering with effort:  
manoeuvring in warp was usually extremely limited, particularly in a ship of this size. Too long out of a forward alignment and the field would compensate, changing their heading and course. Kirk trusted Sulu's touch on the controls, his knowledge of the Enterprise's limits as opposed to ones described in her technical manual.

"At 3 million miles." Sulu's voice was steady. "Two and a half. Two million"

The Enterprise's warp field overlapped with that of the three Romulan warbirds and for a brief instant the more powerful field of the Enterprise absorbed and subsumed that of their opponents.

"All hands, brace for impact." Kirk told his crew. In sickbay, McCoy and

Chapel shut the door to McCoy's office and wedged themselves in a corner.

In science lab seven, Ann Ridley began to pray aloud.

"One and a half. 1 million, captain!"

"All stop!" shouted Kirk. Starships did not drop to zero speed while in warp, but reduced speed to impulse manoeuvring, but Sulu's fingers danced on the controls, reversing power and bringing the Enterprise to a halt. The inertial dampers failed to compensate for the sudden change in velocity and the bridge crew clung to their chairs. As the Enterprise shuddered with the strain, her warp field dragged the Romulan warbirds to a shuddering stop as well. Their assemblies, less well made than the Enterprise and less lovingly maintained, buckled under the pressure.

"Romulan one losing power to the deflectors, sir." Iyen reported.  
"Romulan two shields at half power with a failure in the warp field generators."

"Mr Chekov, fire!"

"Aye, sir!"

The warp torpedoes launched simultaneously, sending a shudder through the Enterprise's frame, accurately striking at the Romulan's shield generators.

Kirk imagined the scene on board the war birds: over stressed machinery shooting sparks, frantic engineers, the chaos of a gravity failure... he tried not to think about how closely that scene might resemble his own engine room after that last manoeuvre.

"Second barrage." he ordered.

"Second barrage away!" That was the full complement of weapons the Enterprise could fire while in warp, but tactical showed the three ships almost completely red, the computer's way of indicating systems failure.

"Their shields are down, sir! Power at minimum. They're helpless!"

"Mr Sulu! Lay in a course after the Treynis, maximum warp."

"Aye sir."

Scotty's voice came crackling over the comm. "Sir, what are ye doing to my engines!"

"Hold it together a little longer for me, Scotty," Kirk coaxed.

"There's little eno' left tae hold, Captain!"

"Five minutes, Scotty. Give me five more minutes." Kirk said, and cut the connection as Iyen shouted:

"Treynis in sensor range!"

The pursuing warbirds were in disarray, unable to follow the fugitive.

"Open hailing frequencies. Romulan ship Treynis, this Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. You are in Federation space, in violation of the Federation-Romulan Treaty. Please explain yourself."

Static, and then the screen flickered and cleared to show a Romulan clinging to the command chair. "This is - crackle - of the Treynis.  
We do not - crackle - choice, the Romulan space fleet - crackle -"

"Romulan Commander, your signal is distorted."

"They're losing power to the communications system, sir," Iyen said.

"I can't boost it any more, sir," said Uhura, "Not without drawing power from the engines."

"Their life support is going."

"Romulan commander, our sensors show your life support is failing.  
Lower your shields and we will beam you aboard the Enterprise." Kirk muted the sound on the transmission. "Security bay to transporter room two."

"Kirk, I - crackle - honour."

"Shields are down, sir."

"Shields down, Scotty, beam the crew of that vessel to transporter room two. Mr Kyle, how's that team?"

"We're ready sir. The Romulans are arriving."

Kirk stood. "Shields back on line as soon as the transporter room reports all Romulans aboard, then fire on and destroy the Treynis.  
Get a full sensor log of the destruction and then take up back to the other warbirds at warp 1 as soon as Scotty tells us he's clear down there. I'll be with our - guests. Ms Uhura, you have the conn."

"Aye sir," she said, moving down to take the centre chair. As Kirk stepped in to the turbo life he heard her low melodious voice saying,  
"All stations, damage report."

* * *

Larssen fell and did not get up. Spock knelt beside her, and she made one desperate effort to get her feet under her and then subsided into unconsciousness.

He set the packs down and prepared to erect the shelter. His chronometer told him they had nineteen more hours, if the Enterprise had left orbit, and they had one hundred and sixty miles to go. He could go on, and cover the distance in that time, but Larssen seemed too weak to be left, now, and she clearly could not continue. He opened the shelter pack, and was startled when Larssen grabbed his wrist with one hand.

"How long?" she croaked. "How far?"

He told her, and she managed to get to her knees. "Eight miles an hour." she whispered. "A walk in the park."

Spock ignored her, pulling the shelter out. "You cannot continue." he said impassively. "You have done well, Lieutenant, but it is over."

Larssen looked at him for so long he though she was going to pass out again. "Can you reach the base without needing the shelter?"

"Yes." he said. "But even the heat source and the shelter will not keep you from hypothermia at this point, without another source of body heat."

Larssen nodded. "Medkit." she said, reaching for the pack. She had trouble with the straps, fumbling with the fastenings and then with the equipment inside. "Inoprovalene." she said impatiently to Spock.  
"Delactovine."

He assisted her. As the medication took effect, her eyes cleared.  
"There is a limit to the amount of such doses your cardiovascular system can tolerate." he warned her.

She used his shoulder to lever herself to her feet, her disregard for Vulcan's dislike of physical contact an indication of how far gone she was. "Stinking dead dogs rapidly copulating with their ancestors." she said with a drunkard's precision. "I think this one is my decision,  
Commander."

Spock was still for so long she feared he would refuse her, and then he got to his feet, leaving the shelter half unpacked. Taking a ration tube from the other pack and putting it in her gloved hands, he said, "Eat, and we'll continue." As she tore the end with her teeth and forced herself to swallow the salty paste, he added, "Perhaps, as we walk, I can correct your accent."

Larssen was too weary to even smile. She simply looked out at him through her hood and facemask, her eyes tearing from the cold and wind, until Spock could not meet her eyes any longer, and turned away.  
He was not sure he was making the right decision: even though she had gained her feet she was very weak, and losing strength fast. He could not estimate the probability she would survive the day ahead, except that it was low.

She was, however, right. In some way, this was her choice to make,  
when walking out of the shelter into the blizzard had not been.  
Perhaps because she was so clearly in her right mind now, and not been then: or perhaps because she was choosing a risk, rather than choosing death. He felt he had no right to stop her, although at the same time he could not help picturing her falling one final time, and the snow drifting over her face and open eyes. He recognised the emotion within himself: fear; and used reason to accept it, and move past it.

When she had eaten, he picked up the pack that held the medpack and the last of their food. Silently, she took hold of the strap, ready to move off behind him.

"Commander," she said faintly. "It has been a very great honour to serve with you, and to know you."

"Lieutenant," he said formally, mastering his fear and turning it to determination to get them both to the research base alive, "The honour, and the pleasure, has been mine. I look forward to its continuance."

Don't you DARE die on me now, McCoy would have said, but perhaps Larssen knew that Spock meant the same thing in his own way, for she gave him one small nod before he turned.


	13. Chapter 13

Centurion Nelvar, the commander of the Treynis, was trying to look humble and unthreatening. It was not an easy pose for a Romulan,  
although Kirk reflected that the Commander was aided by the fact that McCoy had laid him flat on his back on a diagnostic bed and was prodding him with an array of medical equipment.

"We did not mean to violate the treat, Captain Kirk." Nelvar said.  
"However, we had not choice of our course after those four warbirds took up our trail in the Neutral Zone. We had hoped to escape along the borders of the Empire to some previously uncharted section of space."

"And do what, may I ask?" Kirk said sceptically. 'Conquer it?"

"I know this sounds unlikely, Captain, but we had not such intention.  
It is not widely know outside the Empire, but there are some Romulans dedicated to peace."

"And so many of those rise to Centurion in the Romulan fleet." Kirk's tone was silken, but his eyes were hard. "We're about fifteen minutes from Sub Centurion Kaylis, Centurion. I have a limited amount of time to spend on this. Unless you want be to return you to the Empire, I suggest you become persuasive. Now."

"We request asylum from the Federation." Nelvar said quickly "We submit ourselves to the jurisdiction of whatever courts the Federation should deem appropriate and to whatever disposal the Federation chooses. I speak for my crew."

"That's persuasive." Kirk said. "We'll have to keep you confined until we can turn you over to the appropriate authorities."

"I expected no more."

"Good. And now, Nelvar, in exchange for my getting four warbirds off your tail, saving your life, and providing you with a chance to start a new one, you can do something for me." Kirk leaned close to the Romulan. "You are within your rights to request immediate transfer to a Starbase, where at least you'll have more comfortable accommodation.  
However, I'm asking you to waive those rights."

"For what reason?" Nelvar asked.

"I need time. I have six crew out of communication on a planet in this sector and I don't want to - how should I say it-"

"Put yourself in the way of another order?" Nelvar suggested. 'Have you sabotaged your communications relay? That was always our first option."

Kirk laughed. "I see we have more in common with the Romulans than is widely thought. Centurion, will you do this for me?"

"For myself, yes. But I cannot speak for my crew on this."

"As soon as the doctor has finished with you you'll be returned to your crew. Try to persuade them, Centurion,"

"Captain to the bridge! Captain to the bridge!"

Kirk slapped the comm button. "On my way." he said, and was gone.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Uhura of the USS Enterprise." that officer was saying as Kirk stepped out of the turbolift. "Please respond. You are in violation of the Federation Romulan Treaty.  
Please respond."

"Captain on the bridge." Kirk said, stepping down to the chair on the left as Uhura slipped out of it to the right. Kirk noted with satisfaction that the bridge crew were going about their tasks with their usual brisk efficiency, although damage reports were streaming in from all parts of the ship.

"Damage reports to your two, Captain." Uhura said, settling back at her station.

"Summarise."

"Sickbay reports three causalities, one serious, none critical, no fatalities. Engineering reports instability in the warp field generator, Mr Scott estimates forty minutes to restore maximum power."

"Tell him he's got ten."

"Aye, sir." she said. "And Ensign Regna requests your presence in science lab seven when you have the time, sir."

Kirk turned in his chair, ignoring the Romulans for a moment. "Is there a problem there?" Ann, he thought. Ann's hurt.

"No damage to that sector, captain." Uhura said. "Ms Regna wanted me to make it clear it was not an emergency."

With an effort, Kirk dismissed the speculation that leapt to his mind,  
and turned back to the centre screen.

"Open hailing frequencies, prepare that sensor log for transmission."

"Hailing frequencies open, sir."

"Sub Centurion Kaylis, this is Kirk of the Enterprise. You have told us that your presence here is due to your pursuit of a fugitive. I am sending you a sensor log" Kirk nodded at Uhura "which proves that the fugitive ship has been destroyed. Therefore, your presence here is no longer necessary."

Kaylis looked at something off screen, obviously a display of the Enterprise's recording of the destruction of the Treynis. When he looked back at Kirk there was something akin to respect in his eyes.

"Pah! I thought the Federation was a haven for such criminals!"

"I don't have time to be a haven today." Kirk said. "Now, Kaylis,  
your ships are helpless and I'm still in a hurry. Are you going to go back to your own territory, or shall I give my officers the order to fire?"

"Your solution to the problem of the Treynis is truly Romulan, Kirk,  
but your Federation weakness shows itself again. No Romulan would give such quarter to a helpless enemy!" Then, as Kirk drew breath to speak, Kaylis raised his hand. "But we shall take it. There is no point in fighting when one can only lose. One day, Kirk, you and I shall meet again."

"Set your course, Kaylis." Kirk said, indifferent to the Romulan's threats. "We'll see you to the door."

* * *

When they reached the research station Larssen was on her feet again,  
through only held there by Spock's grip on her arm. She had spent part of the trip upside down over Spock's shoulder in a fireman's lift, and part of it stumbling behind him. He found the constant physical contact wearing, although she did not bombard him with the wild surges of emotions that many humans felt. Instead, he sensed only -snow- from her and -going forward- and -cold-. Still, as he bypassed the access code on the station doors with an emergency Starfleet override, at least part of his relief was not due to Larssen's continued survival, or his own arrival in close to the necessary time,  
but the simple knowledge that he could let go of her now.

The doors hissed shut behind them and they were in the dull yellow lighting of a station in mothballs. Spock had given the command himself, two months previously.

Now he said, "Computer, standard lighting, temperature at normal plus ten degree, command code Starfleet Alpha 321, Enterprise, Spock."

The heating came on and the light brightened slightly. Spock steered Larssen to the nearest outlet. She sank down beside it, eyes closed.

"Wait there, Lieutenant. I must go immediately to the communications station."

Her eyes opened briefly in response, that was all. Spock opened a wall locker and took out two of the station comm sets. He put one in Larssen's hands. "These are linked to the base unit with hardwire relays at 3 foot intervals. The frequency of relay units will overcome the interference that prevents the use of Enterprise communicators. I will return shortly."

He would have preferred to see that she got immediate medical attention, but his chronometer told him there was no time. Without hesitation, he strode away.

Larssen knew, intellectually, that it was warmer, but she couldn't feel it yet. She made one gigantic effort to put the headset on with her numb and clumsy fingers, and then slumped to the floor. Made it,  
she thought dully, made it, made it, made it...

She had no idea how long Commander Spock was gone, but she made the effort to open her eyes when she heard his voice. To her surprise,  
she could not see his boots in front of her, and she realised that the voice was coming over the comm. unit in her ear.

"Lieutenant Larssen." he said again. She wondered if it was her imagination, or if he really sounded tired, as tired as she felt.  
Probably projection, she thought to herself, nobody could be as tired as I feel.

"Sir." she murmured.

"The external relay unit is out of alignment and not responding to the controls." he told her as if he were saying, Weather continuing fine with a chance of showers over night. "Diagnostics indicate a break in the remote circuits which must be repaired."

Spock seemed to be waiting for a response. "Sir." she said again.

"Lieutenant, do you have the necessary computer skills to restore the command program as the unit comes on line?"

With a sudden thump of dread, she realised exactly what he was getting at. Someone would have to stay by the communications station to gain control of the relay while someone else went, oh, dear god, went outside again to repair the broken circuits. Larssen wanted, more than she could ever remember wanting anything, to be the one who stayed inside. She took one shallow breath, exhaled.

"Sir, no, I don't. I do have my technicians level 4 certificate,  
though." More than qualified to repair the remote circuits. She pulled herself to a sitting position, then to her feet, and took a tool kit from the wall locker Commander Spock had uncharacteristically left open. "I'll need a fix on the location of the break." she said as matter-of-factly as she could.

"The affected section is twenty feet from the entrance behind you."  
Spock said, and of course his tone was matter-of-fact, though she thought she could hear a ragged edge to his voice. "Turn left,  
staying close to the base wall, until you see the external filters for life support. The unit is approximately 5.4 feet from the filters,  
directly away from the wall. The base communications system has relays external to the station. Communication should be possible, if interrupted."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Don't let the door lock behind me, sir."

The life support filters were relatively easy to find, in fact Larssen tripped over them. She took a breath, turned her back to the wall,  
and began to count steps.

One. Was that a foot, or less than a foot?

Two. That didn't really count as a step, she had barely managed to bring her left leg level with her right.

Three. She couldn't see the wall behind her anymore, only snow, white snow, on every side. Wildly disoriented, she rocked, and knew she could not afford to move off track, or she would travel inch by aching inch out into the blizzard and be lost forever. She dropped to her knees and began to crawl.

Four. Nearly there. I want TWO baths! Larssen thought muzzily.  
Maybe three!

Five. Something dark distinguishing itself from the snow. She reached one hand forward and touching something solid: a relay post,  
hard and smooth and metal. As she brought her head closer to it she could hear the faint crackling in her ears resolve itself to Spock's voice.

"Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen." he was saying, as patient as God.

"Yes." she answered.

"You were out of communication for more than ten minutes." he told her. "Oh." The information did not connect to anything useful in her head.

"Thank you, sir." she added vaguely, because the information had obviously meant something to him.

Larssen levered the access panel off the post and peered at the unit inside. "The slave relay - burnt out." she muttered. "Replacing -  
sir."

It was a fiddly, tricky job and the gravitronic driver kept slipping out of her ham-fisted hands in their bulky gloves. The fourth time she had to grope for it in the snow Larssen dropped it back in her tool kit and slowly fumbled the mask away from her face. With her teeth, she unsnapped the fastening on her right glove and the bit down on the fingers and pulled her hand free.

Her hand ...

For a minute her mind went blank with screaming shock at the sight of her hand.

It didn't hurt, of course, of course not, she thought with the calm detached part of her that was not gibbering, the nerves froze long ago, long ago ...

"Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen." Commander Spock's calm voice returned her with a thud to her body, and Larssen realised that she was moaning softly.

"Hunnnhhh..." she managed. "Hunnnhhh."

"Our window of opportunity is closing."

"This -will - take - a little longer - than I thought." she said faintly.

"The task is time critical, Lieutenant. We do not have a little longer."

Go to hell, you pointy-eared green bastard. Larssen thought, but there was no heat to it. With her left hand, she rummaged in the tool kit and drew out a length of utility tape. "Yes, sir." she said, wrapping one end around her poor battered hand. Poor hand, she thought, as if were something apart from her. Poor, cold little hand, you did your best. Ridiculously, sentimental tears threatened to overwhelm her and she gulped.

Fall apart later, Corrina. Right now is time critical. Fall apart later.

She closed her mind to everything except the replacement of the slave relay.


	14. Chapter 14

"Ann." Kirk said patiently. "Come out from under the table, Ann.  
We're safe now."

She stared at him, eyes huge in her pale face, and pulled back when he reached a little further towards her. Kirk suppressed a flash of irritation. He still had four Romulan ships out there, even if they DID seem to be helpless, he had a ship in minor disarray and the awkward half-kneeling half-crouching position he'd assumed to see under the table was beginning to hurt his back. He took a deep breath. "We won, Ann. Everything's going to be fine. You can come out now."

Behind Kirk, Regna shuffled hir tentacles. "Willing to attempt physical extraction of the Professor if required, Captain." s/he said. "Possibility of minor damage only."

"Hear that, Ann? If you don't come out I'll send a Sulamid in after you."

She blinked, eyes still fixed on his face. "Is it really over? The Romulans are gone?" she whispered.

"They're disabled." Kirk told her. "We're seeing them over the border.  
I promise you, we're stable."

"For now." she said.

"It's always for now." When he took her hand, she didn't pull away.  
"Come on. Let's get you to sickbay"

Ann let him help her out, and climbed to her feet unsteadily. Ensign Regna shuffled a little more, and said: "Apologies, Professor."

"What for?" she asked, and Kirk was relived to see a ghost of a smile on her face. "I didn't see YOU under that table."

"Did not think to adequately secure you." the Sulamid said. "Failed my primary responsibility under regulations."

Ann took a deep breath, and as Kirk watched approvingly, she laid one hand on one of Regna's main handling tentacles. "I panicked." she said quietly.

"Not your fault, Regna. You couldn't have expected it. It wasn't regulation Starfleet behaviour."

"That was well done," Kirk said to her as he guided her down the corridor to the turbolift. Ann looked as if the sight of cracked panels and loose circuitry wasn't doing anything for her nerves.  
"Sulamids take their responsibilities very seriously."

"It was just the truth. I shouldn't have bolted under the table.  
When the gravity started to fluctuate - I could feel things hitting the ship - well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. A lab table isn't much protection against a torpedo, but it felt safer."

"I'm sorry." Kirk told her. "It's not always that bad."

"Sometimes that bad if often enough for me." she said wryly. "I'll be glad to get home."

'We'll get you there as soon as we can," Kirk promised. He saw her in the door of sickbay, and then turned to go back to the bridge. Ann hesitated, watching him walk back up the corridor, and when Nurse Chapel spoke to her she started.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said come in," Chapel repeated, but her tone was mild, and her expression understanding. She had seen the look on Ann's face as she watched James Kirk walk away: she had seen it before, in a mirror.

* * *

Captain's log, Stardate 3912.4

We are speeding back to the Ser Etta System at Warp 8, after seeing the Romulan ships back over the border into the Neutral Zone. We have, as yet, had no message from the communications relay buoy we left in orbit before departing, and we are all hoping that this indicates the continuation of the storms. If, when we return, the storms have abated, then something else has prevented the landing party from communicating with the Enterprise.

Injury, illness ... death...

* * *

"Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen. Lieutenant Larssen."

Go AWAY! she thought wearily. Why wouldn't he let her rest here in the snow, where it was so warm and comfortable? Surely she had done enough now to make up for her errors? Couldn't she be allowed to sleep for even five goddamn minutes...!

"Lieutenant Larssen, respond. I require your presence within the base. Lieutenant Larssen, respond."

"Yes." she snapped tightly, getting to her hands and knees. She was somewhere between the relay post and the wall, with no idea what direction to go in.

Larssen realised suddenly that she had heard Spock clearly although she was out of the effective range of the hard relay. It was even more unforgivable that he would disturb her if he had, after all,  
gotten the system working. She dropped the tool kit as a marker and crawled forward cautiously, hoping to see the wall. When she didn't,  
she backed up, turned in a different direction, tried again.

"Lieutenant Larssen, respond."

"I'm coming, damn you!"

There was the wall. Leaning heavily against it, Larssen got to her feet and stumbled onwards. Commander Spock's dry, insistent tones nagged at her. She was needed in the base, she was needed in the base... the doors were in front of her. She crawled over the threshold, pulled her legs up to allow them to close behind her, and waited to be told what to do. Oddly, it seemed to be snowing inside now, the floor of the corridor as warm and comfortable as the snow had been... With the portion of his attention that was concerned with Lieutenant

Larssen, Spock noted the opening and closing door and the presence of an additional life form in the base. He dismissed her from his mind.  
She had been silent for an unusually long period of time, even after he had brought the additional power on line, and he had begun to consider taking the time from his work to go out and retrieve her.  
Fortunately, for time was very short now, that had not been necessary.  
The message that she was required had been enough to rouse her, and it was not, in fact, a lie: he required her not to freeze to death.

Spock keyed another sequence, and regarded the blinking error light impassively.

That was the frequency modulation unit...

Larssen felt herself lifted off the warm floor with a grip like a mechanical cargo handler, and tried to find the words to protest. She was stumbling along the corridor, being dragged along, and she could not seem to manage to get her feet under her and form words at the same time. Commander Spock was speaking to her, and his voice seemed to be coming from off to her left and to be directly in her ear at the same time. She could not understand what he was saying, tried to tell him so, and was dumped into a chair.

Only the grip on her arm kept her from falling out of it again.

Everything came clear for a second then, Spock bending over her,  
implacable.

"Lieutenant, I must set the frequency manually. Do you understand?  
This requires that you inform me when the modulation indicators match.  
Can you hear me?"

Larssen nodded, her eyes only half open. Spock pulled her around to face the console. "Sit here." he instructed her. "When the numbers on this screen match the numbers of this one, tell me. Can you do that?"

"... don't ... know." she said honestly. Spock sensed only a confused feeling of - warm snow - and he shook her slightly.

"One more thing." he told her, and Larssen had the hallucinatory impression his voice was gentler than it had been. "Then the message will be sent. Lieutenant?"

" ... yes ... sir..." Larssen could see the screens through the falling snow.

Match the numbers. Stay awake and match the numbers. Only one more thing she needed to do before she could rest. "... go on..."

Not without a sense of misgiving, Spock left her sitting at the console, and moved as quickly as he could to the access tube.  
Slinging his tool kit over his shoulder, he began to climb. Although he was in better shape than the Lieutenant, he was in some physical discomfort from the effects of the trek, but this was of no consequence. He located the relevant access panel, removed it, and bent to his task.

Larssen kept her eyes on the screens. Numbers were streaming past,  
and it was hard to keep them straight, hard to look from one screen to the other when her attention wanted to wander and she wanted to close her eyes and sleep, but she managed it. The right hand screen number dropped rapidly, stopped, climbed again. She leaned closer, her vision blurring, blinked hard. Right hand numbers rising, 104329,  
104330, 104331... 104335. Stopped. She looked at the left screen.  
104335\. The same. She felt a sense of triumph.

"...Match, sir." she whispered. In the access tube, Spock did not permit his hands to shake.

"Keys Alpha Smith Delta to transmit," he told her.

Larssen wanted to protest. One more thing, he had told her, not two.  
One more thing. She dragged her right arm up, and punched the keys with the end of the gravitronic driver she had taped to her mangled hand. Alpha. Smith. Delta.

Commander Spock was speaking to her again.

No, he was not speaking to her. "This is Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise with urgent information for the Federation Council." he was saying. "This message has priority one. All ships, immediate relay.  
Message starts..."

Done. Larssen thought with immense satisfaction. She let her hand fall away from the keyboard and listened as Spock's voice went out into the void, carrying the information so desperately needed. Done.  
The snow was thicker now, she could hardly see the room around her,  
and it was strange that it would be snowing inside but it had been snowing so long it was not very surprising. She could not see the screens now, only the warm snow.

Bob. she thought. I'm coming.


	15. Chapter 15

"Captain!" Uhura said. "Incoming message from the relay buoy. It's Mr Spock, sir!"

"On screen." Kirk ordered, beginning to smile.

"Audio only." Uhura said, and transferred to the communication to the general bridge audio.

At the sound of the familiar rasping voice, Kirk felt a surge of elation, quickly tempered when he heard the unusual strain in Spock's tones, hidden but there to be heard by anyone who knew him well. My god, Kirk thought, he sounds awful!

"This is Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise with urgent information for the Federation Council." Spock was saying tiredly. "This message has priority one. All ships, immediate relay. Message starts: The biomedical research team in the Ser Etta system has discovered that the Realgar System contains a cure for Mansinni's Syndrome. It is imperative that this system _not_ be ceded to the Klingons in the upcoming negotiations."

"Uhura, immediate relay."

"Aye, sir." A moment later the message was on its way, boosted by the far more powerful equipment of the Enterprise.

"Send it down to McCoy in sickbay, too." Kirk added, but a voice behind him said

"No need." McCoy had just exited the turbolift.

"What brings you up here so conveniently?" Kirk asked with a smile.

"By the prickling in my thumbs, something Vulcan this way comes." said McCoy dourly, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that told Kirk the doctor was as happy to hear from the landing party as anyone else.  
Then McCoy stepped close to the captain's chair and said softly,  
"Jim..."

"You hear it, too?" Kirk asked, just as softly.

"I've heard Spock sound that bad before." McCoy said. "Once or twice.  
I want him in sickbay as soon as you can do it, Jim."

"No argument from me." Kirk raised his voice. "Increase speed to maximum, Mr Sulu."

"Aye, sir. Going to warp 8.1. 8.2. 8.3." Sulu calmly counted the numbers off, stopping at 9.2. There was no physical sensation of increased speed, but Kirk imagined he could see the starfield warping past them at a faster rate. On cue, the intercom spluttered.

"What is it, Scotty?" Kirk asked without needing to verify who was calling.

"Captain, what are ye doin' to my engines?"

"We have to get back to Ser Etta in a hurry, Scotty. We've had a signal from the landing party, and we want them home as soon as it can be done."

"Aye, sir." said the engineer. "I'm right glad to hear that they're all right. But ye will nae get them back faster if you fly the ship apart on the way there."

"I wouldn't do that, Scotty." Kirk soothed. "How much power can you give me?"

"How much power I can give ye, Captain, and how much power I should give ye, are two different questions. Tell young Sulu to take the ship to 9.5 and hold her there. I'll do what I can for ye, Captain,  
but I'm nae guaranteeing anything."

"Understood, Mr Scott. Thank you."

"Aye, well, we all want Mr Spock and the others back, sir."

"Mr Sulu, warp 9.5." Kirk said, and then "Uhura, return signal to the landing party. We are approaching the system at all possible speed.  
Stand by to beam up."

"Aye, sir." She gave a dazzling smile. "Sending now."

* * *

"Bob." Spock heard Larssen whisper. "I'm coming." The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he did not need reason to identify the emotion he felt.

"Larssen, wake up." he ordered severely. "Lieutenant, I am ordering you," as he backed rapidly down the access tube, "Lieutenant, respond immediately, that is an order, Lieutenant-"

An ear-splitting clatter he identified as her comm. unit falling to the floor.

Bracing his wrists and ankles around the edges of the ladder, Spock slid down the last floor, landing with a stagger he would in other circumstances have been relieved there was no one to see, and managed to raise a run. Pausing only briefly to tear a medkit out of the nearest first aid station, he turned left, left again, right, leaving green blood on the walls where he caught himself from falling.

Larssen was still sitting at the communications console, the red lights giving her skin a ruddy, healthy glow, and her eyes were open,  
but the comm. unit lay where it had fallen and her head was tilted back, too far back...

Spock took the hypospray out of the medkit, loaded it with delactovine with a speed and precision that would have done credit to the most experienced doctor or nurse, and pressed it against the exposed skin of Larssen's neck. Then inoprovalene, and the hypospray hissed again.

She did not move, and the medical tricorder indicated low core temperature, no pulse, no respiration, no circulation to send the life saving drugs around her body to where they were needed.

He pulled her from the chair, laid her on the floor and tore open her jacket. There was only a millisecond's hesitation as he overrode the instinct to place his hands over the place a Vulcan heart would have been, and laid them on her sternum instead. Steadily, he began the compressions, pausing as required to administer artificial respiration. His own voice echoed through the room, talking to ships far distant, telling them about the Realgar System. It made no impression on him: even though Larssen's heart beat obediently in response to the pressure on her chest, the medicine was not restoring her.

He stopped, and reluctantly laid one hand on the side of her face,  
expecting only the stillness of death. That was all he found, and yet ... and yet ...

He had the impression that something was there. He remembered the words spoken by his teacher at the Vulcan Academy. Even the most skilled healer should not join the mind of those truly close to death,  
Senik had said. It is too easy for one consciousness to follow the other into silence. The healer must attempt to repair the body and the will, but when it is time, he or she must also be prepared to let them go...

Spock was not a healer, but without hesitation he placed his fingers over the psi points on Larssen's face.

"My mind to your mind." He whispered harshly. "My will..." -warm snow.  
Lying down in the warm snow-

For an instant he almost yielded to the strength of the impulse to give up, to rest, for he had done his duty and no-one could blame him if he was not willing to do more, but only to lie down in the warm comforting snow that was falling all around him and sleep in peace at last. It might have been the strength of the image that saved him.  
For an instant he was there, in the snow, exhausted, his job finished,  
and he could not imagine other than -

Getting up and doing the duty of a Starfleet officer. he thought pitilessly, with all the rigour of his will. Getting up and doing -

\- the duty - he felt Larssen respond, so faintly he could barely sense it.

\- of a Starfleet officer -

\- the duty -

\- getting up -

\- doing the duty -

He was turning away from the arena on Vulcan where he had met the trial of koon-ut-kal-if-fee at his time of pon farr, the knowledge that he had killed James Kirk clear in his head, the knowledge that he would have to live with the rest of his life, going back to serve on this ship where every second would remind him of his dead captain, his friend. He turned away and began walking -

her heart in her mouth, out on to the floor at the Academy hand to hand combat training hall, knowing she was about to get beaten, and badly, but knowing she had to pass this course to get through the Academy and into Starfleet, which was everywhere she wanted to be.  
The young man opposite her bowed and then struck with a speed she couldn't counter, sending her hard to the floor. She cried out once,  
and then rolled over, and got to her -

feet, his side aching where the horta had slammed him to the floor,  
but this was a new life form and they were seeking such, so he steadied himself, setting aside the pain and standing -

up despite the blows that rocked her, the daily gauntlet she ran to get into the schoolyard.. She was a motherless child, zidar, a no family nobody, and other children knew they could torment her with impunity. Even at seven, though, she knew that this education was the only way to get what she wanted, to get to the stars, and so she stayed -

on his feet as the photon torpedos struck the ship and the gravity fluctuated wildly. "Shields at 20%" someone cried nearby, and the order to abandon ship came. He was the last to leave the bridge despite the danger of another strike, because it was his duty to stand -

at her post, but her knees had given way and she slumped on the floor.  
She would never get up from here, never get up, she was done,  
finished, and then the section chief roared like an angry god "ON YOUR FEET, ENSIGN! and she discovered, she could after all -

get up, despite their pain and exhaustion, despite misery and guilt,  
as the -

horta turned to them -

floor of the dojo rocked beneath them -

hot Vulcan sun beat down on them -

children mocked -

Klingons fired -

they gathered their strength -

As the snow fell -

The force of Larssen's movement pulled her head away from Spock's hand and the mind meld snapped apart, leaving him momentarily disoriented.  
Larssen had lunged upward, trying to stand, but only made it to a kneeling position before she crumpled to her hands and knees, breath coming in agonised gasps. Spock collected himself, and ran the medical tricorder over her. The inoprovalene and delactovine were doing their work. She would need more sophisticated medical attention soon, but there was time.

"Lieutenant, I am going to get the anti-grav stretcher." he told her.  
"Remain here until I return." He would have omitted the last instruction if talking to a Vulcan or a member of another species whose would react logically to the several physical distress Larssen must be feeling, but with humans one never knew.

"Aaawarrraa..." Larssen said, eyes closed. "Aaawaaaa ... aaawwahhh"  
Her head was spinning. She had been back on her home world - on Vulcan? - on a ship she'd never seen - on the USS Brigadoon, her first posting - in the snow? "Aawaaa?" she inquired as the anti-grav stretcher stopped beside her. Strong hands helped her on to it,  
leaving green smears on her jacket.

"I suggest you do not try to talk." Spock said dryly, guiding the stretcher to the station's sickbay, pausing occasionally to gather his strength. In the sickbay he set her on a diagnostic bed and set it to run, turning the medical tricorder on himself. As he suspected, he was very weak, but not to the point of collapse. As every alert on the diagnostic bed blinked to red, he took a handful of ration tubes from the corner locker.

"Although I suspect the food synthesisers can provide something more palatable later," he said as he used a sonic scalpel to open one before handing it to Lieutenant Larssen, "The immediate imperative is to provide sustenance."

"aahhn - hunh" she managed as she sucked obediently on the tube. The medical computer was flashing a long list of treatment recommendations. Spock ignored those not immediately concerned with keeping the Lieutenant alive - the medical computer was equally anxious that he raise her red blood cell count and treat abrasions on her leg with antibiotic cream.

Patiently, he carried out the most urgent tasks, taking time to eat when the procedures allowed, and giving Lieutenant Larssen a new ration tube each time she finished one. His fatigue made him slower than usual, but he curbed his frustration and continued methodically.  
After the medical computer confirmed that Larssen's temperature and blood chemistry were close enough to normal to make sleep no danger,  
he ceased to remind her to remain awake and within minutes her eyes had closed, which was something of a relief to Spock. Larssen's persistent attempts to speak were unintelligible and were an irritant on his fatigue-eroded control.

He spent some time removing the tool she had taped to her cold-savaged hand, trying to minimise further injury, an easier goal now that the food and warmth had allowed his hands to steady a little. Setting the tissue regenerator was not a task Spock considered himself qualified to do, so he was forced to content himself with cleaning the injuries and covering them with permaskin. Her other injuries would wait a little, until she woke and was able to make his task easier with cooperation.

Spock sat down by the bed. He would rest a moment, he thought to himself, and then check on the communications unit. Later, his first priority would be to check on Lieutenant Larssen's left hand, possibly injured even more severely than her right. The sprain to her knee had not healed properly, and that would have to be attended to ...

He was still patiently, wearily, running through the tasks his duty set him when he drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Uhura, what's the status on that answer?" Kirk was able to keep himself from snapping at her, but not able to keep the urgency from his voice.

"Still no response, sir."

"Jim, if you don't calm down, I'll tranquillise you." McCoy whispered.

"Shut up, Bones. Are we sending the new message?"

"Yes, sir, for the past four hours."

Kirk knew he had asked a useless question, and one which implied his communications officer did not know her job, and knew he should apologise. Later, he thought. When I hear from Spock. When I can speak to my crew without biting their heads off.

"Sir, we're approaching the planet." Sulu said. "Entering orbit now."

"Record another message." Kirk said. "Start recording: Spock, if you're there, answer this! We got your message about Realgar and it's been sent on to Federation HQ, but we've been trying to raise you for 6 hours. Unless you want to get a reputation for napping on the job,  
Mr Spock, I suggest you pick up the phone."

"Vulcans don't nap." McCoy pointed out.

"Bones, I'd be a lot happier if you didn't keep pointing out all the reasons why any possible non-serious explanation isn't true. That's an order, doctor."

* * *

It was Larssen who woke first, out of a vivid dream of mountains on a desert world she had never seen. She opened her eyes to the soft chime of a computer trying to tell her something, and saw a cream coloured ceiling she could not make sense of. Turning her head, she saw medical equipment.

Aha, sickbay, she thought. No wonder I feel so awful. And what's that smell?

Oh, it's me. With an effort, she raised herself to one elbow. Not the Enterprise sickbay, though, which deepened the mystery. And then,  
with a start, she saw there was someone beside her, seated in a chair by the bed, leaning forward to rest his head on his arms, one green hand outflung.

Commander Spock, she thought, and the immediate past came rushing back.

The computer was still chiming. She wanted to get up and get it without disturbing Spock, but a bone deep ache when she tried to move warned her this was not a good idea. She let it ring on for a moment,  
but reluctantly realised it could be something important. Like life support failure. Sorry, Commander, she thought ruefully. "Commander Spock." she said softly, and then more loudly. "Commander Spock!"

He came awake with a start, but recovered himself immediately.

"The computer." she said softly, staring at him. There was something she needed to remember, something to do with her dream, something to do with the hazy part of her recollection between punching the transmit sequence and waking up.

He got up without a word - no, Larssen corrected herself, he got up without an unnecessary remark, wondering where that gut-deep comprehension came from - and walked to the comm unit at the door,  
keying in a Starfleet code.

"Incoming message for Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise," the computer said, and then a familiar, welcome, human voice:

"Spock, if you're there, answer this! We got your message about Realgar and it's been sent on to Federation HQ, but we've been in orbit 2 hours and we haven't picked up anything further." A pause, and the Kirk's voice softened, "Spock, damn it - "

One long green finger jabbed the off button, and Larssen was half frustrated, half relieved. The crew speculated often on whether Spock and Kirk had a personal relationship beyond their duty, for friendship was not uncommon between the tight knit command crew of a starship,  
but Vulcans did not have friends, or so the myth went. Larssen suspected she had just missed out on hearing the definitive answer to that particular crew mystery, but she also suspected that eavesdropping on her commanding officer's messages was not a good way to find out. Besides, it seemed to her that she knew the answer. When had she heard Spock, a tell tale shake in his voice, tell her that Kirk was his captain, and his friend? Larssen shook her head gently,  
trying to settle her skull. Hallucinations were not something she would have expected, and she hoped they were not a sign of some other,  
more serious injury. She felt quite appalling enough, thank you very much.

Spock stood with his back to her a moment more, and when he turned his face was impassive. "I shall reply to the Captain's message." he said. "For the moment, you should consider yourself relieved of duty and confined to sickbay."

"Yes sir," she said promptly, "Couldn't get up if I tried, sir."

The feared eyebrow lifted, but only slightly. "I am suggesting you refrain from the attempt." he told her. Larssen though he was about to add something else as he studied her expressionlessly, but instead he turned abruptly and left the room.

* * *

"We've had confirmation from Federation HQ." Kirk said, leaning over the back of Uhura's chair. "The whole Realgar system has been withdrawn from negotiations. A team in on their way there now, with the data you extracted from the Ser Etta records. Senik of the Vulcan Academy is with them, and he reported that it was probably production of an effective treatment would start in less than three standard months."

"That was my estimation, also." Spock said calmly. Kirk wished he could see the science officer's face, but the boosted communicator could only handle audio transmissions. Still, Spock sounded less drained than he had the last time. Kirk was still getting over the shock of his friend's response to the sharp enquiry: Spock, where the hell have you been? Asleep, Captain, Spock had responded evenly, as great an admission of weakness as Kirk had ever heard the Vulcan make.

"Ms Iyen confirms that the storm is blowing itself out. We should have you back on the Enterprise in a week or so."

"That would be satisfying, Captain." Was it Kirk's imagination, or was there relief in Spock's voice? "I am transmitting a set of medical records to the Enterprise. They detail Lieutenant Larssen's condition and treatment. I would be - I consider it appropriate for Dr McCoy would examine them and make recommendations."

"'Appropriate'", huh?" Bones snorted. "I've got them, Spock, but I want yours as well. Get yourself back to that sick bay and on a diagnostic bed on the double. By the time you have your own records for me, I'll have something on Larssen for you."

"Those are my orders as well, Spock." Kirk said. "We'll talk again later. There's nothing urgent at the moment."

"On the contrary, Captain. Meteorology's analysis of my tricorder readings over the past 61 days is of some urgency, as it-"

Kirk cut him off. "Meteorology will call you if they need their hands held, Spock. You're under doctor's orders for the moment."

"Yes, captain." Spock said. "Spock out."

McCoy was fuming. "'Thank you, captain.'" he said. "'Thank you,  
doctor McCoy. Good to hear your voice, Captain.' That cold-blooded,  
green-hued automaton! I'll 'appropriate' him!"

Kirk let the doctor get almost all the way to the turbolift before he spoke. "Bones..." he said. "That's more convincing if you manage not to smile."

"Hrrmmph." McCoy said, and "Vulcans!" as the doors shut behind him.

* * *

Spock had sent his own medical records to the Enterprise, carried out McCoy's recommendations for treating Larssen, satisfied himself that she was able to get to the food synthesisers and otherwise care for herself, and then gone to bed and slept like a Vulcan. Larssen found herself sitting in sickbay in an empty and echoing station. For the first day and night she slept most of the time herself as ivopraine speeded her healing, but by the second day she felt well enough to walk a little (provided there was something to hold on to) and the idea of washing became very attractive.

She began to explore.

Going past the closed door of the quarters where Commander Spock slept, she tried the next room. It was quarters as well, a few pictures and ornaments of the dresser. She felt suddenly as if she were a grave robber, prying through the lives of people who had died in that desperate attempt to reach the rest of the Federation with their news. If it were me, she thought, if I were frozen out there in the snow, how would I feel about someone wandering through my quarters, going through my things?

I'd feel cold, she thought dryly, and dismissed her squeamishness.

Larssen investigated the other quarters and found one which had belonged to a humanoid around her side, a man to judge from the clothes she found. She took a sweater and pants with her down the hall to what she hoped was - yes it was! - a communal washroom,  
equipped with (oh, thank you, all deities who watch out for Starfleet personnel in their hour of need) a bath. The shelf above the bath held a small collection of bottles and jars, and she investigated until she found one that she liked the smell of, then turned the water on and dumped the contents in.

The bathroom was filled with a rich fruit scent she couldn't identify.  
Apricots, the bottle said, and Larssen wondered if that was an Earth flower or something from one of the colony worlds. She started to peel off her clothes, and then the stinking cold suit beneath.  
Halfway through her hands began to shake, and she sat down on the edge of the bath. Must be tireder than I thought, she said to herself, but the shaking didn't ease as she rested, but spread.

Oh, damn, Cory, she said to herself, let's not be stupid about this,  
shall we?

Whether it was the homely familiarity of the washroom or the first privacy she'd had in months, she began to cry. It seemed so unfair that she was sitting here warm and safe when the owner of the bath oil, the owner of the clothes, when Bob Grenwood, were cold and lost and alone out in the storm. It was Bob who troubled her most. They had been side by side through the journey, the same challenge, the same training, and yet somehow she had survived and Bob had died. It was incomprehensible. She, Corrina Larssen, had not been a better person than brave Bob Grenwood. She had not tried harder, she had not been all that more experienced, and yet here she was... what had made the difference? Had it been luck? Or had she been less wholehearted than Grenwood, holding back from the reality of their situation and from him? Had that been the difference that saved her?

Larssen sat on the edge of the bath until her quiet weeping stopped,  
and then heaved a sigh and pulled off the rest of the cold-suit. It wasn't really something she could solve herself. The Captain would judge: she'd make a full report, and so would Commander Spock (her eyes squeezed briefly shut with embarrassment at the thought of that cool, dry voice describing her decision to walk heroically into the night) and Captain Kirk would be able to see clearly where she could not.

The hot water stung the permaskin on her hands and feet, but it was worth it to scrub away the filth of their journey. Painfully, she untangled her hair and washed it, going through two changes of water.  
That was the great thing about planets, she thought wryly, when they aren't trying to kill you they have decent amenities. The sight of her body shocked her slightly, bones too prominent beneath the skin.  
Her hair came out in handfuls as she washed it, and there were raw patches on her skin beneath the dirt where the cold suit had been chafing for two months. When she was clean she stood up and examined herself in the mirror, and could barely recognise the gaunt face that stared back as her own.

When had submitted herself to the hot air blasts from the drier and dressed in her borrowed clothes she looked better, the bulk of the heavy sweater and loose pants disguising her thinness. There wasn't much she could do about her face, but her hair didn't look much the worse for wear as it dried, thick as it had been to start with. She got a nasty surprise when two of her nails snapped off while she was dressing, and on examination realised that all her nails were brittle with malnutrition. Not finding a file, she snapped the rest of her nails off more or less neatly, and went falteringly back up the hall to sickbay.

Commander Spock was awake, seated at the medical computer terminal,  
and he did not look up when she entered. He too had washed and changed, and had managed to resume his customary air of catlike neatness, seeming far more alien than he had on the last weeks of their trek. If not for the prominence of the bones of his hands and face, and the unusual length of his hair, Larssen would not have believed he was the same man who had struggled through the snow with her only days before.

His hearing was acute enough to have heard her enter the room, and so she suppressed her human instinct to clear her throat. Commander Spock was well known to eschew the human social habits of greeting crew on when they, or he, came in. He would speak when he had something to say. Larssen went over to the diagnostic bed and submitted herself to another one of its scans. Most of the readings stayed in the orange range this time, with only weight and white blood cells tipping over into red.

This was as good enough excuse to eat as any, and Larssen got up again. "Sir, I'm going to the synthesizers. Can I get you anything?"

"I have eaten." he said coolly.

"Yes, sir."

The base had chicken-with-almonds-and-don't-ask, and Larssen chose it for its familiarity. As she settled in to the nearest table, a sudden feeling of unreality struck her. She could have been in any Starfleet facilities, albeit a very quiet one, perhaps in the middle of night shift, sitting at anonymous Starfleet issue benches and eating anonymous Starfleet food. If she squinted and blurred her vision, she could almost be in the officer's lounge on the Enterprise - and in a few more days, that WAS where she would be. The whole nightmare would be over, and her life would go back to normal as if it had never happened.

Except she'd be 30 pounds lighter. And Bob would still be dead.

"Lieutenant."

Spock's voice made her start, and she realised she was sitting with her fork in midair. She laid it down, carefully, and turned.

"Yes, sir?"

"The Enterprise has been able to make brief contact with those members of the landing party left at the shuttle crash site. All three are in good health."

Larssen expected to feel relieved, but all she could think was And Bob isn't. And Bob isn't.

Spock was waiting for her response.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir. Thank you for telling me."

"One does not thank logic." he said expressionlessly. Larssen took another bite of her meal to cover her reaction to that, and realised it was stone cold. She wondered how long she'd been sitting with her fork in the air, and how long Commander Spock had been standing in the door way watching. No doubt that would go on her record, as further evidence of psychological disturbance rendering her unfit for further active duty.

Without a word, she took her plate to the disposal and began to clear it. Spock placed a recorder on the table. "When you are ready,  
Lieutenant, your mission log must be completed."

"Yes, sir." she said. He looked at her speculatively at the weary note to her voice, but by the time she turned from the disposal he had gone.

* * *

"Feeling better?" Kirk asked Ann. She had been quickly released from sickbay, and had spent most of the intervening time in her quarters,  
only emerging that day to go about her usual work in lab seven. To Kirk's eyes, she looked as if she hadn't been sleeping well, and he wondered if his decision to leave her in peace had been the right one.

"Yes, thanks." she said, and her usual lightness sounded forced.

Kirk cast a glance at the technicians working nearby, and then said:  
"Care for a walk, Professor?"

"Certainly." she said, a glint of real amusement in her eyes. When they reached the corridor she took his arm and said softly, "Jim, if you think our relationship is a secret that needs to be kept, I have news for you. News is the only thing in Starfleet that travels -"

"Faster than warp 10, yes, I know that one." He looked down at her as they walked. "I wanted to ask you how you were, really, and I thought you might be more likely to answer without anyone listening in."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, I'm fine. Just - a little shaken, still. Do you ever get used to that sort of thing? Red Alerts, things flying everywhere, enemies all around?"

"Well, I've had a lot more time to get used to it," Kirk said. "And training, of course."

"But you do - I mean, one does - get used to it? In time?"

"Not used to it, exactly. You do learn to disregard it to a degree."

"I see." she said quietly, frowning slightly.

"Ann, what's wrong? Can I help?"

She smiled at him sadly. "You're sort of part of the problem," she said, and leaned up to kiss him gently. "I'll see you later, Jim."


	16. Chapter 16

Spock engaged the privacy seal on the door of the quarters he was using, and sat down at the desk. He pressed 'play' on the little recorder, and sat impassive as Lieutenant Larssen's even voice said:

"Mission Log, Lieutenant junior grade Corrina Larssen, Stardate 3916.4, Ser Etta Five.

On Stardate 3874.2, I beamed down as second ranking officer with Commander Spock, Yeomen Shimona and Brand, and Ensign's Bai'tin and Grenwood, to Ser Etta Five at a sight where sensor scans had indicated the presence of metal consistent with a Starfleet shuttle."

A brief squeal as Spock ran the recording forward, and then:

"I made the suggestion, to which Commander Spock agreed, that Ensign Robert Grenwood should be included in the team of three undertaking the journey to the research base. This suggestion was based on the assumption that Mr Grenwood's youthful resilience would outweigh his inexperience, and he would deal well with the rigours of the journey.  
That assumption was proved false. Tested beyond his endurance by the rigours of the journey, Mr Grenwood became unable to continue, and I was unable to adequately carry out my duties as second ranking officer to care for the health and morale of the crew under me. Mr Grenwood died as a result of this failure on my part."

Another squeal, and Larssen's voice again, less steady:

"I have no excuse for my conduct, which I now see was unbecoming for an officer, and evidence of unsuitability for my current rank. Had Commander Spock not prevented me, I would have endangered his life and the completion of the mission."

His eyebrow raised, Spock ran the recording forward again, and heard:

"After assisting me to the research base, Commander Spock brought the base communications relay on line and boosted the power with the dilithium source installed for the medical equipment. He transmitted a message for relay to Federation HQ informing them of the significance of the Realgar system. Commander Spock then carried out his duties to safeguard the welfare of his crew by ensuring I received appropriate medical care despite his own condition. His conduct at all times was in accordance with his responsibilities as ranking officer."

Spock stopped the recording, and sat with his hands steepled, deep in thought. Above and beyond Lieutenant Larssen's description of a mind meld as 'appropriate medical care', there were a number of things about her mission log which did not accord with his own recollections.  
They were, however, in agreement with the bare facts of the events, if the differences in personal interpretation were taken into account.  
It was the personal interpretation which gave him pause. If that mission log were submitted, the captain would be required to act on its content. Even if he, Spock, were to report that Larssen's conduct had been in line with her duties and responsibilities, Kirk would be forced to order a psychiatric evaluation of the Lieutenant, which would be placed on her record. And if the results of the evaluation were inconclusive, or even problematic - given that it would be Dr Leonard McCoy administering the examination with the aid of the crude machines humans used to measure mental health, Spock was far from certain that any evaluation would reach the right conclusion.  
Larssen's career could be damaged, even ended. And what could Spock do? Starfleet would not accept his assertion that the mind meld had given no evidence that Larssen was less than competent, even if Jim would.

He reached out, and pressed 'erase', and then picked up the recorder and went in search of Larssen.

He found her in the biomedical laboratory, cataloguing experiments for the recovery team.

"Lieutenant," he said, and she swung around. Seeing the recorder in his hand, she flinched slightly, and he guessed she was irrationally afraid he would change his opinion of her based on her mission log.  
Humans often projected their own feelings thus, and could damage themselves and their relationships with others in the process. Spock altered what he had been about to say, and went on: 'Lieutenant, the recorder seems to have malfunctioned. When I attempted to replay your mission log, the memory was empty."

She was really very easy to read, in the way Vulcan children were.  
Sudden relief, and then apprehension at the thought of getting up the courage to record it all over again. All she said was, "I'll try again sir."

He did not move to give her the recorder.

"Lieutenant Larssen, in case you have not filed a mission log before-"

Larssen drew breath to speak, but Spock continued implacably, giving her no chance " - it is important to remember the difference between a mission log and a personal log. There are many details of an event which have no direct bearing on the outcome of an event, and need not take up space in the ship's databank. If the captain wishes more detail on a particular event, he is able to ask for it. For example,  
there was no need for me to record more than the length of time it took us to reach this base after Mr Grenwood's demise. The details are irrelevant. Do you understand me?"

The look on her face said that she understood his words all too well for her comfort. He held out the recorder and she took it mutely.

Spock turned to go, but stopped when she drew breath to speak. "Sir -  
thank you, sir."

One does not thank logic, he thought of saying, wondering if any human would ever grasp that element of Vulcan thought. However, perhaps this was not the time for a lesson in interspecies protocol. He inclined his head silently, and left before she could embarrass herself further.

* * *

"Mission Log, Lieutenant junior grade Corrina Larssen, Stardate 3916.4, Ser Etta Five.

On Stardate 3874.2, I beamed down as second ranking officer with Commander Spock, Yeomen Shimona and Brand, and Ensign's Bai'tin and Grenwood, to Ser Etta Five at a sight where sensor scans had indicated the presence of metal consistent with a Starfleet shuttle. We there discovered the wreckage of the Ser Etta Five Research Base shuttle and the bodies of the research team. The team had died of cold and exposure. Commander Spock extracted information from the tricorder of Joseph Riboud concerning the manufacture of a cure for Mansinni's Syndrome from materials found on Realgar Seven. In order to transmit this information to Federation HQ, Commander Spock, Ensign Grenwood and I set out travel to the research base. Ensign Grenwood died en route, subsequent to an earthquake. On reaching the base, Commander Spock modified the communications relay to boost power and transmitted a message containing the relevant information. End Mission Log"

Larssen clicked off the recorder and went in search of Commander Spock. She found him, as she'd expected, at the communications station, coordinating data analysis with the Enterprise crew. Finding a seat, she sat patiently and waited until he was finished.

"I've finished my report, sir." she said when he closed the frequency.  
"I hope you'll find it appropriate."

"Very good, Lieutenant."

"Sir, I- I wondered about something."

"Curiosity is an admirable trait, Lieutenant." he said, as she seemed to expect an answer.

"When I was thinking back to after we got to the base, sir, for my report, it seems - it seems I should be able to remember something that isn't there. I mean - I remember punching the transmit code in.  
And I remember waking up in sickbay. And in between, I remember -  
mountains?"

He raised one eyebrow. Damn that eyebrow, Larssen thought. I hate that eyebrow. That eyebrow is a menace and should be rated a class-A weapon only to be used in life-threatening situations.

"A range of mountains rising out of the desert, with two peaks higher than the rest, the left one twisted as if leaning towards its twin."

"Yes." she said on a long shaken breath. "I've never seen those mountains, Commander."

"They are on Vulcan, some 50 miles from my parents' home."

"Telepathy?" she asked.

"I mind melded with you when it seemed the only way to save your life." Spock told her with Vulcan directness. "You allowed yourself to sink into a state of extreme physic withdrawal, which, coupled with your physical state, made you unresponsive to usual medical treatment.  
I sought to awaken your determination to live. I was unaware until now that you did not recall this." When she did not say anything immediately, he prompted: "I take it you find the knowledge uncomfortable?"

"Yes, sir." she said. "I mean - I feel like I've invaded your privacy.  
And - and like you've invaded mine."

"That is a very natural reaction." he said. "On Vulcan, with the exception of healers, mind melds occur only between intimates, save in emergencies. Even Vulcans find the idea of a relative stranger having experience of their thoughts discomforting."

"It's not the relative stranger part that worries me." Larssen said.  
"I'd be less -" she searched for a word, rejected 'humiliated' as too emotive, "less embarrassed if it were someone going off to the other side of the galaxy and I never had to face them again."

"Embarrassment is an emotion." Spock reminded her. "Seek to master it."

"Yes, sir."

"I do not give such advice gratuitously," Spock said with asperity.  
"I have no wish to receive a request for transfer from you which is based on an illogical ground." He paused. "Lieutenant, I have undertaken more mind melds since joining the Enterprise than most Vulcans experience in their lifetimes. I have therefore had to confront a matter which does not usually arise and is not covered in Vulcan manners. How does one continue a non-intimate acquaintance with a being whom one has joined in mind, in will, in spirit?"

"How does one, sir?" Larssen asked hopefully. "It is not logical, and against the principle of cthia, to pretend the experience did not occur. I have shared your memories, Lieutenant, as you have shared mine. It is not, however, necessary to dwell on this. Your memories will fade over time, and you will find yourself less disconcerted by the recollection of the meld. This will occur more rapidly if you turn your mind away from consideration of it."

"Not think about it?"

"I believe that is what I said."

"Sir, how am I to deal with it if I don't think about it?"

"I do not mean you should deny it, Lieutenant." he said. "I believe I explicitly instructed you not to do so. You should, indeed, consider and master your reactions. However, those memories you have of events you did not, personally, experience need not form part of your consideration. Is that understandable?"

"Yes, sir." she said, and got up to leave. Something occurred to her on the way to the door, however, and she stopped.

"Vulcans don't forget, though, sir." she said. "Your memories won't fade."

He considered deliberately misunderstanding her, and assuring her that concern over his equanimity was not warranted, but discarded the impulse as unworthy of him, and of her.

"No, they will not. I have the mental discipline, and the training,  
to keep them where they belong - as memories - rather than experience them as dreams. I am not rummaging through your past on a nightly basis, Lieutenant." Larssen flushed red.

"I -" she said, and stopped. "I'm not the same person as I was then,  
sir." she blurted quickly, not meeting his eyes and not specifying which "then" she meant. An all-purpose, all-encompassing "then",  
Spock suspected, a blanket "then" covering any incident in her past he might be aware of.

"I have spoken to you before now on the subject of shame." Spock said.  
"Do you think my opinion of your performance as an officer will be affected by any knowledge I might have of events of your past? I have a comprehensive knowledge of your present, Lieutenant, and if in your past you did not act with your current integrity and efficiency, there is no shame in that. The only shame would be if you had not learnt from the experience. When one's body proves insufficient for the demands life makes upon it, it is logical to strengthen the body. So,  
too, when one's mind is not equal to a challenge, it is illogical to consider this a failure of character. Rather, the rational being seeks to strengthen those aspects of the mind found wanting."

Larssen had blushed at his realistic description of her behaviour, yet one more instance in Spock's long experience of humans interpreting an impartial account of their actions as praise. "Sir, I - can I ask you a question? About the - the mind meld?"

"Curiosity is generally an admirable trait, Lieutenant. Curiosity about that which others keep private is not."

"No, sir." she said. "Reach - reach out to others with courteous hands. Accept their reaching with careful hands. The base data banks have some of the writings of Surak, sir." And she made as if to leave again, but something - considering - in Commander Spock's eyes stopped her.

For a moment the room was very still, and Larssen had the sense of something balanced, wavering, tilting one way and then the other. And then Spock leaned forward, and spoke, and time went normal again.

"What is it," he asked, very carefully, "this courtesy you wish to do me?"

Larssen went back to the table, and sat down. "In the Academy," she said, no less carefully than he, "in xenoanthropology, they told us -  
when you are not sure of your ground, ask the other how to ask the question. Commander Spock, in my - recollections - of the mind meld,  
I have a sense of emotions. They are recognisable. They seem similar to human emotions. I had believed that Vulcans were more different from us than that. How should I ask you about this?"

"As you have." he told her, and then was silent a long moment,  
thinking. "It is not, I assume, a surprise to you that Vulcans do have emotions. The teachings of Surak to use logic to master passion make no sense if there is nothing to master. However, you should not assume, on the basis of the mind meld, that such emotions are similar to your own. Firstly, because I am not wholly a Vulcan, and to extrapolate from me to the entire species would be inadvisable.  
Secondly, because many Vulcan scholars have argued that the sense of sharing thoughts - and emotions - in the mind meld is illusory. That a person, of whatever species, can only interpret the data they have through their own filters, and that these filters include the endocrinal and hormonal reactions which constitute 'emotion'. Such reactions, such physiological systems, differ between species.  
Therefore, full understanding between species is not possible."

Larssen looked a little shocked. "That two people of different species can never understand each other?"

"Lieutenant, perhaps two people of the same species can never fully understand one another. It is a human failing to assume that understanding is a necessary prelude to acceptance." Spock thought of his own experience, of Jim Kirk with his sometimes transparent and sometimes baffling reactions, and the sense he sometimes had that Jim understood him completely, and at others that there was a gulf of incomprehension between them that could never be bridged. And yet,  
even then, his captain's acceptance never wavered, even when Spock knew Jim felt he was flying blind without a chart in the dark of Vulcan idiosyncrasies.

It was, however, neither necessary nor appropriate to explain the idea to Lieutenant Larssen using his own experience as an example. "It is more accurate to suggest that acceptance is the necessary prelude for understanding, whether partial or complete. This is of a piece with Surak's admonition to accept emotions before they can be cast out; and to accept the reality-truth of the universe before reacting to it. If perfect understanding were common, there would be no need for Vulcans to remind themselves to celebrate infinite diversity in infinite combination. Such a reminder as IDIC presumes that understanding is not always possible. When it is not, the very lack of understanding is a difference to be rejoiced over."

Larssen was frowning slightly, but Spock did not think it was in disagreement. "I have to think about that, sir."

"I should be surprised," he said dryly, "if you did not. Although I suspect from your remarks about tal'ath'at you will have less difficultly than many."

"How d'you mean?"

"Without tal'ath'at, one simply is where one is." he explained. "In such a state, one merely accepts others' behaviour without seeking to create a consistency with past actions and thus predict future acts.  
Is that not so?"

"I- I'm not sure. That's something else I think I need to think about."

"Indeed." Spock paused, and then continued slowly: "Lieutenant. If I wished to ask you about your home world, and the lack of value placed on tal'ath'at there, how should I do so?"

His careful courtesy made her smile, suddenly aware that to him she was the alien.

"Only like that, sir." she said. "It's not an issue private to me,  
or to our culture. I come from Initar, one of the colony worlds lost from the Federation in the early years. When a scoutship re-  
established contact, Initar had a primarily agricultural economy, with such light industry as the agriculture required. The climate is very good, there, long growing seasons and a cold winter but a short one.  
Initar had developed some - unusual - social structures, but the primary effect of the climate and the economy was to reduce the need for much planning. After the initial loss of contact with earth,  
Initar society divided between those who wanted to commit all the efforts of the population to re-establishing contact, upgrading industry as fast as possible, and those who felt that doing so was dangerous, and unnecessary. They quoted the human bible: 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"

"I have heard the saying."

"Well, the Initari who wanted to restore contact, sacrificing the labour of generations for the imagined future, didn't win out. And their mind-set, the idea of envisioning something far off and striving for it, without regard for the present, was discredited. The Initari who gained control of the government, and the education system, and the rest of it, were pretty clear in their ideas that such thinking wasn't appropriate for Initar. It didn't take many generations before children were learning at their mother's knees that the most important thing you could do was pay attention to where you were, and that thinking about the future was a waste of time - after all, when the future gets here, you can pay attention to it then. That's a pretty loose interpretation of the official histories, sir. "

"There is a balance between tal'ath'at and the knowledge of where one is in the universe," Spock said, "that Surak wrote must be achieved.  
Too much of one, and cthia is forgotten. To much of the other, and forethought is abandoned. Is this Initari disregard for tal'ath'at the reason so few from Initar join Starfleet?"

"Yes, sir. Initari make better crewmen than officers. Most of the Initari who apply to the Academy are - are zidar, sir. As I am."

"Zidar?"

"Motherless children. One of the unusual social structures Initar developed during its isolation is rigid matrilineage. My mother -  
she died in childbirth, rare enough, but it still happens,  
particularly in colony worlds. A child without a living mother has no family, on Initar. Since Initar re-entered the Federation, there have been some changes to the way that zidar are treated - we're allowed school, now, and there are orphanages for zidar to live - but still,  
the zidar are the ones who aim for the Academy. Paying attention to where you are is less - useful - for a zidar than for other children."

Her words met and matched the stray memory in his mind of being a young girl, beaten by other children for daring to enter the schoolyard, but persisting because of a determination, a fierce hunger for the stars.

"I see." he said. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for satisfying my curiosity."

"Thank you, sir, for satisfying mine." Larssen laid the recorder on the table and stood. "When will they beam us out?"

"It seems likely that the atmosphere will clear enough for safety tomorrow."

She nodded, and turned to go. Watching her walk away, still limping slightly from the damage frostbite had done to her feet, he had a moment's understanding of the fierce tal'ath'at that had driven her through years of difficult schooling and driven her again, here,  
through the storm. An imperfect grasp of logic, certainly, that had buckled beneath the strain of Grenwood's death: but she was human,  
after all, and spoke a language that contained words which had no modern Vulcan equivalent. Martyr. Suicide. Such words could send a pulse of irrational xenophobia through even the most urbane and sophisticated Vulcan. Spock wondered if he would ever truly understand them, and if he would be in a fit state for anything but the mind healers of the Vulcan Institute if he did.


	17. Chapter 17

Setting up the chess board gave Kirk a feeling of order restored, more even than seeing the five shapes materialise in the transporter room.  
Spock sat in his usual chair, at his usual time, and Kirk could tell,  
without looking, that his First Officer wore his usual non-expression.

Kirk had heard Spock's mission log, and Larssen's, while McCoy had them both in sickbay making his usual hrmphing noises over biochemical and physiological readings that were still, despite a week's rest, a long way from normal. Spock had submitted to the doctor's ministrations with an air of imperturbability which (to those who knew him well) concealed the patient tolerance of a brain-surgeon required to accept medical care from a witch-doctor.

'Although," McCoy had confided in Kirk later, "he may be sicker than I thought. He was more than half-way polite to me and Christine, which is a sign of serious instability in that unfeeling machine-hearted fiend of irrational rationality!" Which, Kirk supposed, meant that Bones was feeling better too.

As Kirk made the first moves in an opening he had been carefully planning since Iyen had confirmed the storm was abating, he avoided mentioning the mission. Spock's log had been, as was usual for him, a dry recitation of relevant dates and events, but Larssen's had been unusually uninformative as well. No-one became a starship captain without learning to read between the lines, and for that matter to write between the lines as well, as Kirk had the authority to call Larssen in and ask her, directly, for a more detailed account: but Spock had heard that mission log as well, and if Spock didn't think it needed elaboration, a wise captain would find out the answers before he asked any questions that might need to go on record somewhere. But this was Spock. If he asked him straight out what had happened on Ser Etta Five, he would get a bland look and a referral to the mission logs.

So Jim played chess, and waited.

He got his opening at the same time Spock found the gap in Kirk's chess strategy and neatly took out a knight, leaving his bishop in control of the Kirk's queen's file. A casual question, one which might come up between friends: what was Kirk's recollection of his first landing party command?

"It was boring." Kirk admitted. "The first ten or so were routine,  
friendly contact, a bit of scientific sampling, handshakes all round and an invitation to drop in for the local equivalent of coffee next time we were in the neighbourhood. I suppose I got cocky. Then came the mission to Ninivar Two."

Still talking carefully, casually, he went through the details of the mission as Spock captured a bishop, then the other, and pinned Kirk's queen in an elegant rook knight fork. The routine appearance, the sudden hostility of the inhabitants, the crossfire that left two crew dead and more injured, pinned down with almost no cover.

"At that point," Kirk said, "I doubted I should ever have been promoted. I doubted I would ever have the nerve to command a landing party again. And I doubted every decision I had to make to get us out of there, turning round and round in my mind what my captain would have done, what other officers would have done."

"I had doubts," Spock admitted, turning the captured knight between his fingers. "I found myself frequently aware that I did not, and could not, respond in the way I thought you would do. I have spent some time in contemplating the possibility that the outcome would have been better if that had not been the case."

"And what did you resolve?" Kirk asked softly. Spock looked up, and met his eyes.

"I am - not certain." he said. "And yet - I am certain that I, Spock,  
could not have acted other than I did."

"Ensign Grenwood?" Kirk guessed. Spock nodded slightly.

"Ensign Grenwood's death is in some part my responsibility." he said.  
"Had I chosen the composition of the expedition part differently, it might not have occurred."

"You can't spend too much time dwelling on might have beens."

"That is true. However, some examination of past actions is necessary to avoid the needless repetition of mistakes."

"What mistake did you make?"

Spock was silent a long moment, and then set the knight down and moved one of his own pieces. "Checkmate in five." he said, and Kirk laughed.

"Teach me to feel sorry for you," he said ruefully. "But that's not enough of a distraction. Answer the question."

Spock steepled his hands, eyes still on the board. "I was insufficiently aware of the effects of psychology on human performance and efficiency," he said at length. "In consequence, when I became aware of the importance of this factor, I relied more heavily on Lieutenant Larssen than, perhaps, I should have." He hesitated. "In truth, I have been less occupied in considering Ensign Grenwood than Lieutenant Larssen. My reliance on her required her to bear a heavier responsibility than would have otherwise been necessary."

"And how did she do?"

"You have my report." Spock said austerely. 'I would not have recommended her for a commendation if she had not performed creditably."

"Then what concerns you?" McCoy would have been impatient with the Science Officer's circuitous route to the heart of his unease.

Kirk knew better. It was hard enough for the Vulcan to lower his reserve enough to discuss the subject at all. Nevertheless, neither his duty as captain nor his affection for Spock would allow Kirk to let the matter lie.

"What concerns me is the fact that the situation should have arisen at all." Spock said now, and Kirk shook his head.

"I've heard it said that Vulcans don't lie, but they are past masters at evading the question. This is me, Spock. Your captain." Your friend.

Laying his long hands flat on the table, Spock met Kirk's gaze. "She suffered greatly, Jim." he said softly. "I could not aid her as you could have. Would that not concern you?"

Kirk reached out a hand instinctively, stopped himself short. "Yes."  
he said simply. "Yes." Then, gently, "Did you - aid - her as you could?"

"I tried to advise her." Spock said, and then confessed, his voice low, "I do not know to what effect."

"You don't know what I could have done for her either." Kirk told him,  
thinking: and I certainly don't, since there are great spaces in that mission log that are remarkable uninformative. "We are, each of us,  
different. As such, we each can only do what is in us to do. I recall you saying once that it is illogical to protest against one's nature."

"That is true." Spock said. "As I reminded Ensign Grenwood, all that can be done is one's best." He said it as if hoping repetition would make it more convincing, and Kirk smiled.

"Oh, I know that one."

They looked at each other with perfect understanding.

"It does get better, Spock." Then, after a moment's pause, "Glad to have you back."

"I should hope so." Spock said with a raised eyebrow, and Kirk laughed aloud. Spock turned to setting up the chessboard again, but Kirk would not let him get away that easily.

"There's a response you're supposed to make to that."

"Indeed, captain?" Spock said at his most intimidating formal best.  
"I am afraid my grasp of obscure Terran idiom fails to provide it."

"You great Vulcan fraud." Kirk said, holding his gaze.

"Your move, captain." And then, as Kirk gave up and leaned forward to move a chess piece, his first officer and friend, in what was neither the first nor the last ambush of their long association, said in a most un-Vulcan tone:

"Glad to be back, Jim."

* * *

"I was wondering if you could use your influence to hurry this up,  
Jim." Ann was holding a datachip.

"I'm not sure how far my influence extends," Kirk said, "but I'll do my best."

She made no move to put this chip in his outstretched hand, however,  
and he let his hand drop back to his side.

"It should be sufficient for this," Ann said, turning the chip over between her fingers.

'Sit down." Kirk indicated a chair in the ready room, and took a seat himself. "What's got you upset?"

"What makes you think I'm upset?"

"You always fidget when you're nervous."

She laughed, then bit her lip. "Am I so easy to read?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"I think I may surprise you yet, Jim." she said quietly. "This is a request for assignment to the Enterprise."

Kirk was, indeed, surprised, and groped for the words he wanted.  
Seeing his hesitation, she rushed on:

"If you'll have me aboard. I don't mean to - to presume anything, but I was thinking - I was thinking about what I said. About there not being very much time. And it occurred to me that I'd like there to be MORE time. And you're not about to take a shore assignment, are you?  
So I filled out the form for assignment as a specialist scientist,  
civilian grade..." Her voice trailed away.

"Of course I'll have you aboard!" Kirk said. "Ann, I can't think of anything I'd like more, as a captain, than to have a galaxy class microbiologist to add to the crew. And, as a man, I can't think of any microbiologist I'd prefer. But - Ann, I thought all you wanted was to get off this ship and get home. Get somewhere safe."

"That's what I thought, too." she admitted softly. "And I'm terrified.  
And I'll be terrified every time something dangerous happens, and I'll probably cause Ensign Regna to go into fits of over-responsibility on a regular basis. But - maybe I'll get used to it. Maybe you'll get tired of me. Maybe I'll decide to go home. Not just yet, though."  
She met his eyes, tried a smile. "If you'll have me."

"I said that," Kirk said, reaching out to take her hands in his, and drawing her close. "I'll use all my influence to punch that request straight up the chain of command. Welcome aboard, Professor Ridley."

Taking her in his arms, he showed her just how welcome she was.

* * *

"Spock." McCoy popped out of the doorway like a jack-in-the-box.  
"Got a minute?"

"I have precisely seven point two minutes before I will be late for duty, doctor. Will that suffice?"

"It'll have to." McCoy said. "Seven point two, eh?"

"Six point nine, now."

McCoy had the sense to know when he was being teased, and he simply snorted and beckoned Spock into the sickbay, then into his office, and shut the door.

"Lieutenant Larssen." he said. "Grenwood requested the string quartet play at his memorial service, and she's bowed out. Says her hands are giving her gyp. Is that the reason?"

"You would know better than I." Spock said.

"Oh, really - and PUT THAT EYEBROW DOWN, dammit!"

"I am hardly qualified to comment on the Lieutenant's medical condition." Spock pointed out.

"Well, I WOULD be qualified to comment on the Lieutenant's psychological condition, if I didn't have this sneaking feeling that the bare bones in those mission logs could be fleshed out to make a much more interesting story." McCoy said irritably. "I don't like it when crew members die, Spock, and I don't like it for more than just that fact that it's a horrible damn waste. I don't like it when their friends and associates start behaving differently afterwards, and I don't like trying to pin point what's eating at one of my patients when I have what I suspect to be less than one tenth of the relevant information - it's like trying to take out an appendix by candlelight with a hacksaw."

"Am I to presume from this simile you have experience in performing appendectomies in such circumstances?"

McCoy gave the Vulcan a long, shrewd look. "Misdirection isn't going to work this time, Spock. Neither is irritation. I'm responsible for the health of the crew, and if there's something I need to know about what happened down there and you don't tell me you're derelict in your duty - and don't even THINK about correcting my grammar at the moment!"

"It is difficult to effectively obey a proscription on certain trains of thought." Spock said. "I believe the terran reference is 'not thinking of horse's tails.'" Then he relented, as it seemed possible that the doctor's heroic attempt to control his temper might actually cause physical injury. "I cannot tell you anything which would violate Lieutenant Larssen's right to privacy, but I can tell you that she found some aspects of the mission psychologically difficult. It is my judgement that this will not effect her efficiency. You may be certain that I would immediately report any matter affecting the efficiency of the crew, doctor." He stood up. "I am now due on the bridge. Please excuse me."

He left McCoy mouthing 'right to privacy ... right to privacy...' to himself, and had barely reached the turbolift when the doctor barrelled out into the otherwise empty corridor again. "You read her mind!" McCoy said. "Didn't you? You read her mind, you-"

The turbolift doors closed. McCoy cursed, with considerable imagination and precision, Vulcans in general and Spock in particular,  
who thought they were fit judges of human capacity based on their god-  
damn cockeyed so-called logical interpretation of half-understood information drawn from unverifiable psychic experiences and then invoked high-falutin' privacy considerations to keep qualified human practitioners from forming their own far more qualified judgements.  
He stopped when he ran out of breath, and went in search of Kirk.

* * *

"Doctor McCoy is concerned about your fitness to return to duty,  
Lieutenant." Kirk pointedly examined a PADD which in fact held a report from the Enterprise's quartermaster. "Something about playing a fiddle?"

"Cello, captain." Larssen said. "I appreciate the doctor's concern-"

"Well, I don't." Kirk said. "I appreciate the doctor not having anything to concern himself WITH. I also appreciate an absence of paperwork, which is why I refused his request to make your return to active duty conditional on the results of a full psychological examination. The paperwork, and of course Commander Spock's assurance that an examination of that nature was not necessary." He paused.  
"IS it necessary, Lieutenant?"

"No, captain."

"But you don't want to play the cello at Ensign Grenwood's service."

"No, captain."

"Do you have a reason which will allay the doctor's concerns?"

Larssen considered sticking with the excuse of her hands, but that had already been proved not to wash. Saying, I can't bear to, Captain,  
did not seem a particularly viable alternative. She compromised. "I don't want to cry on the strings, sir. It isn't good for them."

She couldn't read any expression on his face except mild irritation at the problem she was causing him. All the crew dreamt of one day coming to the personal attention of the captain, but not as a problem.  
She ventured:

"I could explain that to Dr McCoy, sir."

"I suggest you be sure that salt water does damage cello strings before you do, Ms Larssen. He's likely to look it up, and you're likely to find yourself back in here."

"Yes, sir. What should I say, sir?"

"Try telling me what the problem is." he suggested. "I WILL put up with the paperwork if that's what's necessary to make sure my officers are fit for duty. Lacking other information, it's beginning to look necessary."

She was silent for such a long time, gazing down at her hands, that Kirk thought he'd misjudged the tack to take. When she did speak, her voice was so low he had to strain to hear.

"I lost it, sir."

"I thought it might be something like that," he said, and she looked up, startled by the sudden change in his voice, from busy starship captain to a gentle sympathy tinged with amusement.

"Lieutenant," he said, "Do you know what Admiral Bantry said when I submitted my mission log yesterday? He said," and Kirk managed a reasonable imitation of the Admiral's Delurian rasp: "Don't you people EVER have a normal day?"

Larssen bit her lip to keep from smiling, but Kirk could see she hadn't quite grasped his meaning.

"I don't know exactly what went on, either down there or in your head,  
Lieutenant, and - " his upraised hand stopped her before she spoke, "I don't want to know. I do know that every good command officer I've ever served with came to some point, some time, when they faced the wall, and went beyond it. And I'll tell you, Ms Larssen, that's the easy part of it. You wanted to lie down and die, I'll bet, and you didn't."

"I nearly did." she said soberly. "I would have, but Commander Spock - he never gave up. That's the way of the Enterprise, captain, and I don't - I don't measure up."

"Trying to measure up to Mr Spock is a good way for anyone to end up in sickbay, Larssen. He's an exceptional officer. You can't judge yourself, or the rest of the crew, against his standards. He certainly doesn't. And what Admiral Bantry was saying was that you can't judge the rest of Starfleet by the standards of this crew. On any other ship, you'd be the hero of the hour. On the Enterprise, you get a pat on the back for a job well done and next week somebody will be asking you to do the impossible again. You can't exceed the expectations on this crew, Lieutenant, because the bar keeps going up.  
Be satisfied that this time you MET them.

"Now you know how bad it can get out here. Bad enough to make you give up and stop trying. The hard part comes now. What are you going to do with the knowledge of your limits? I'll bet you didn't even know you had them before Ser Etta, and now you're scared of coming up against them again. Well, Lieutenant, between you and me and my personal log, I know exactly how that feels. You have a choice to make now, a choice that will affect the rest of your career, the rest of your life. Now you know you can fail, will you make sure you never fail again, by avoiding situations you might not be able to cope with?  
Or will you pick yourself up and do your duty as you see it,  
regardless of the risk?"

He noticed sudden tears in her eyes at the word 'duty'.

Larssen said, hesitantly, "Captain, if I - fail - again, in Starfleet, it's not me, just me, that's I'm risking when I risk failing again. I keep thinking - I should have done something for Grenwood, something more. I didn't know what it was, and he died.  
Next time - I might not know what to do again, next time, or I might not be able to do it."

"It's easy to risk yourself." Kirk told her softly. "The heartbreaking part is having the confidence in yourself to risk others on your own strength. That's what an officer does."

"Yes, sir." she said softly.

"You know your strength now. You think you've discovered your weakness, but I suggest you turn that on its head." He watched her for a moment.

"Lieutenant, I'm not going to process any request for reassignment or discharge from you unless you come back in here and personally tell me your reasons. And I won't even read any application from you until you're been back on active duty for a month."

"Yes, sir." She straightened her shoulders. "Thank you, captain."

"Go on," he said gently, with a slight gesture of his head to the doors.

She was almost at them when he added, timing it deliberately,  
"Commander Spock speaks highly of you, Larssen. Don't make him a liar. You know how Vulcans hate that."

Her shoulders twitched as if he'd physically struck her, but when she looked back there was a new resolution in her face, something Kirk recognised and rejoiced to see. "No, sir, never." she said firmly,  
smiling slightly.

Kirk leaned back in his chair as she went out, satisfied. Larssen would be fine. He'd sometimes wondered if she was introspective enough to make a good officer, but she seemed to have discovered an imagination without letting it run too far riot, somewhere down in the storm. He glanced at the chronometer, and reached for his comm unit.

"Bones," he said. "Got a minute?"

"That depends on what the minute's for, Jim." the doctor responded warily. He was ten minutes from going off duty.

"I'm due a game of chess with Spock in my quarters at the end of the shift. Care to kibitz?"

There was a silence, and Kirk imagined McCoy squinting at the comm in suspicion.

"You always say that kibitzing is putting my nose in where it doesn't belong." the doctor said at last.

"That's why I thought this would be a special treat," Kirk said,  
starting to laugh. "I've just had a talk with Ms Larssen, and I thought you and Spock might be interested, that's one. And two is,  
you've got the best whiskey."

"The truth will out." McCoy grumbled as he set the bottle on Kirk's table twenty minutes later. "I always suspected it was my whiskey that kept you interested in my conversation."

"The truth will set you free, Bones." Kirk teased, and saw Spock's expression flicker in what might almost have been a double-take. When he turned to his first officer, however, Spock was deadpan once more.

"Indeed, Captain." he said, setting up the chess pieces. "Was this the burden of your conversation with Lieutenant Larssen?"

Kirk considered, watching Spock and McCoy with open affection.

"Why, yes, Mr Spock." he said at last, as the Enterprise raced onwards to new missions, new dangers, new discoveries. "Yes, I suppose it was."

* * *

THE END


End file.
